


Splashing, Wading, Knee-Deep, Drowning

by Anonymous_As_Myself



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: All of the platonic Logince, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, And you'd better be asking for more!, Angst, Deceit is Rothbart, Did I Mention Angst?, Enrique - Freeform, Everything happens in the woods, Fairy Tale Curses, Fairytale Stuff, How Do I Tag, I had so many plotholes to fill you don't even know, I'm not sorry for this, If I actually manage to complete it unlike anything else I've ever written, Literally no one asked for this but I'm giving it to you, M/M, Panic Attacks, Prinxiety - Freeform, Roman is Siegfried, Roman is a Gay Alone (he thinks), Roman is a dumbass, The 5 stages of grief as explained by a medieval noble, This'll be angsty, Virgil is Odette, Virgil is hungry and it drives the whole plot, and fluffy, god virgil cannot catch a break, swan lake AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 19:43:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14796743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous_As_Myself/pseuds/Anonymous_As_Myself
Summary: Deep in the woods, intent on using hunting as a manner to escape his grief from the death of his father, Prince Roman finds himself with his bow aimed at a glorious black swan. But when the swan transforms into a young man who has NO business looking that good in a patched peasant's jacket..well..let's just say hunting is nowhere near as interesting anymore.(I don't know how to summarize this)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, welcome to the Prinxiety Swan Lake AU that no one but me asked for, but hopefully you all will be soon! This is my first fic for Sanders Sides, and the second I’ve ever actually planned on posting anywhere..okay. So please be kind, I hope you enjoy-and I'm glad you clicked, since I have no clue how to summarize this..  
> (also posted on tumblr, right here: https://virge-of-a-breakdown.tumblr.com/post/174348887635/splashing-wading-knee-deep-drowning)

“I’m sorry for your loss.”  
“He was a good king.”  
“Esmund will be missed.”  
“You will do him justice, I’m sure.”  
It had been two hours.  
Two long hours, out here in the crisp spring air, listening to the sympathy of strangers who barely knew his father. As they placed their hands on his shoulders, draped in black cloth. As he struggled to keep a smile on his face, assuring them that yes, their condolences had been appreciated and yes, his father had been a good king, and yes, he was holding up.  
After all, the man had died peacefully in his sleep. But that didn’t mean it hurt any less.  
The feeling of the simple gold circlet Roman wore on his his tawny locks was a thousand times heavier than usual, as if all the weight his father used to carry had fallen upon it.  
He drifted to a chair at the edge of the small garden, sitting down and wishing the glass of wine in his right hand contained something stronger. But at the same time not, he didn’t want to feel numb to the pain he felt when his brown eyes met the casket across the grass, raised on a marble platform, because he already felt so numb.  
King Esmund had always loved the outdoors as opposed to the gold and white halls of the castle. It was fitting he’d be mourned beneath the sky. And that was one trait he’d passed to his son - especially at the moment, for if Roman could not grieve as deeply as he’d like - then he’d run off and escape his woes in the wild.  
It was these thoughts, of escape and sorrow, that he was lost in when an item was placed in his lap. He glanced up in surprise, and saw a face, framed by neatly coiffed brown hair, but more easily identified by spectacles placed neatly on a thin nose.  
The cheery smile he wore as a default slipped back onto his face, and he placed the glass aside.  
“Logan! It’s good to finally see a familiar face, all these family friends are making my head spin!” He stood up - though his suddenly cheery demeanour was a bit undermined by his suit of solid black - lifting the package, wrapped in white cloth, in his hands.  
Logan’s expression did not lift. He clearly saw through the prince- Roman had expected that really. But oh well, even the greatest of actors wouldn’t be able to pull this feat off. Roman let his smile fade and his broad shoulders slump slightly. That was when his friend’s expression shifted into the closest thing he would give to a gentle smile.  
“You require a break from all of this, don’t you?” he asked, head tilting in a sympathetic manner.  
“Yeah,” Roman admitted with a groan. “It’s the same script every time, they didn’t know him, it’s all formality. Doesn’t really help when it’s all just..numb? Normally he’d have the words, he’d have poetry to describe his feelings..but he felt too drained. Thank goodness for Logan, the stoic noble was always a shoulder to lean on. Not that he’d ever needed it more than now - and what did the other do but hand him this strange object? Oh, right. His gaze fell to the linen-wrapped item, not much bigger than the span of his shoulders. One long piece protruded from it, giving it a half-diamond shape. Unsure what it was, he decided to unwrap it.  
A crossbow lay in his hands, made of pale wood and carved with swirling designs, he even noticed the crest of his kingdom Volona - the sun hanging before a ribbon, over the crashing waves of the ocean, perfectly melded with the designs of swirling clouds carved into the bow. The limbs were of pale bronze that mimicked gold. It was gorgeous..but a gift at his father’s funeral?  
Roman tore his eyes from the masterpiece of a weapon and gazed at Logan with confusion.  
“..this-this is marvelous..but why?”  
Logan shrugged his shoulders. “Isn’t it obvious? You can’t stay cooped up in here while family friends ‘read from the script of mourning.’ You know that as well as I do Roman, go. Why don’t you go and vanquish some of those ‘beasts’ you always insist roam the woods?”  
Roman’s lips twitched up in the closest thing to a smile all day. Logan’s mimicry really was spot on.  
“Thank you Logan, I truly do not deserve you.” He pulled the bespectacled noble into a hug, which was not returned, but not rejected either - and that was all he could really hope for. Then Logan’s lips curled into a teasing smirk.  
“No you don’t, but oh well, someone had to get stuck with listening to your stories.”  
Roman didn’t laugh, not quite, but his exhale was sharp and not in a scoffing sense.  
“Woe is you, having to listen to tales of adventure instead burying your nose in history books..perhaps I shall take this out.”  
“It would do you good.”  
Roman offered a real, if small smile to him before taking the bow and crossing the garden, intending to duck under the woven arbor and just slip away-  
“Roman. Don’t tell me you are about to walk out on your father’s funeral?” a sharp voice came from behind him. He winced, turning around to face a woman also draped in black cloth, and standing about a half a foot shorter than him, her long brown hair tied back in a braided bun. His eyes flickered downward.  
“...I just needed some time alone, mother.”  
“With a crossbow?” She raised one eyebrow, pointing with one black-gloved hand at the ornately carved wood, and he glanced down at it guiltily.  
“...Yes?”  
The queen tutted, and he braced himself for a tongue-lashing, but her heart did not seem to be in it, and instead she placed a hand on his arm.  
“..I know you don’t enjoy being surrounded by people during turbulent times, but you can’t just walk out on this. Plus, I need to speak with you about something.”  
Her voice had gained a professional edge, and Roman immediately knew this wasn’t just any old talk. He turned to her, looking curious and perhaps a bit apprehensive.  
“What is it?”  
She sighed. “You won’t want to hear this - but with your father gone, and you know I am tired-” Roman couldn’t help but snort at that, and his mother’s lips twitched up. That was nice to see.  
“Yes, very tired, especially since you run around chasing fairies night and day-” An offended noise came from Roman, which was promptly ignored- “It is high time you ascend to the throne.”  
That stopped his tiny bit of mirth dead. The prince’s arms fell to his sides and he stared. Yes, he knew it would happen but..it had always seemed like it _couldn’t_...like a fantasy of grandeur, after all, his father had always seemed so strong.  
Then again, now..  
But his mother was not finished speaking. “Of course, you know as well as I do that you should not do that alone. Roman, it’s time you chose a bride-”  
“Mother, you _know_ I do not want a _bride_ -” he protested, throwing his hands up in a dramatic plea, but he was silenced by his mother putting up a stern hand.  
“Yes, Roman. I know. But you must understand that there will not be any men showing up to court you when the time comes..it is not ideal, but if you cannot find a lover, find a partner who will made a good queen for you to work with.”  
Roman’s eyes fell to the ground. As much as he hated to admit it, as much as he loved to daydream of running through the woods, laughing beside the prince of his dreams..  
It was unlikely at best.  
“..I understand.”  
A soft smile crossed the queen’s face, and she went to squeeze one of his outstretched hands.  
“I won’t pressure you. You have a month or so..but if nothing comes up, I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”  
Another quiet nod.  
“Now, you know you must stay until the funeral is over.”  
Roman sighed, releasing his mother’s hand and placing the masterpiece of a bow on one of the tables. It was draped in black cloth, just like everyone around it. “I will.”  
“Thank you, Roman.”  
His mother swept away, leaving him alone. And alone he stayed, the same thoughts of earlier plaguing him once more.  
***  
“Stop! Thief!”  
“Guards!”  
“Get him!”  
Virgil went rigid. The calls were coming from a vendor’s stand not far behind him, an armorer-wares had been stolen. There was another shout from not too far to his left, a grocer.  
The lightweight dagger slipped into the inside pocket of his patched black jacket and the apple concealed in his hood prompted him to run.  
He didn’t care about being seen, it had been his last night in this town anyway. Right now, what mattered was escape, dashing down the cobble street and in between two buildings, a bakery and a butcher’s shop, he remembered. Black leather boots thudded across stone as his heart began to race, the shouts were getting louder, _they were gaining on him_. He scrambled over a low wall and winced as he stumbled, barely managing to keep himself from falling before rushing off.  
Virgil was panting now, why oh why did the market have to be in the heart of town?? Glancing back, his dark brown eyes focused on the guards - five soldiers, three female, two male from what he could make out - in hot pursuit. He was just a petty thief for goodness sake! He should have paid better attention to the weapon he stole, stupid, stupid-  
Virgil rounded another building and was out of the village. Though the guards did not stop their chase as he rushed into the forest, speeding through the dark trees and ignoring the pain as brambles and gorse tore at his pants. It didn’t matter. The shouts hadn’t faded, and even though his lungs were burning he couldn’t stop. _Scramble over another log, dodge another tree._  
At one point he pulled out the stolen dagger to hack away at branches blocking his path, considering taking a break for maybe just a moment - but a flash of bronze armor from just a few yards away sent him running. Then an arrow whizzed by his head.  
Virgil’s vision went white with terror, it had _just missed him but don’t panic, you can’t panic, not here not now_ even when his breathing was coming in ragged gasps, and his muscles couldn’t seem to keep up with how much his mind was screaming at him to _run._  
He tripped over a root and fell on the dark grass with a wince - but it was a blessing rather than a curse, as another arrow whizzed over his head. It took an amazing amount of control to scramble back to his feet and go rather than just pass out right there.  
_Running. Pounding. Shouting._ It was all a blur from there, until the foliage got even thicker and he was slashing at branches until his face was littered in scratches, his coat torn to near shreds. Until the canopy above blocked out any and all light, until the trunks of the trees grew gnarled and ugly, and he stumbled more often.  
Until the cries finally, blessed _finally_ , faded from earshot.  
The sun was low in the sky as Virgil finally burst, ragged and exhausted, into a clearing.  
He was graced with the sight of a lake and gratefully stumbled to its edge, kneeling beside it and scooping water into his hands to take a long drink from. And there, after hours of running, was where he passed out.  
***  
When Virgil came to, the first thing he noticed was the feeling of grass tickling his cheek. Strange, he usually slept in the worst room of an inn, stable or occasionally an abandoned house. And there wasn’t even much grass in town. The second thing he noticed was the strange silence. That prompted dark eyes to open, the pale form to sit up, and as he took in his surroundings and remembered the previous day’s events..Virgil realized how much he’d missed as he fell into this clearing.  
The grass beneath him was soft and a healthy green. The trees surrounding him seemed twice as tall as any he had seen before, twisting around each other like the dancers he’d watched during festivities in town. Though as he looked closer, he saw the knots and gnarled branches that seemed to take the shape of faces and limbs, stretching out towards each other like lovers reaching endlessly. Their deep green foliage only stretched so far, so much so that he was completely exposed to the sky, which was a pale gray in the half light of dawn. Jagged mountains could be seen in the distance…  
The tiny amount of sunlight that there was blinded him for a second as he stared up, so Virgil was forced to gaze down, back at the lake that he had collapsed beside.  
A smooth, massive expanse of pure, undisturbed silver, reflecting the trees above and mountains behind, he could even see birds drifting over the treetops in this vast expanse of water.  
It was impressive until he saw his own reflection. Brown hair had become streaked with sweat in his run, and plastered onto his forehead - though a quick hand through it fixed that problem for the most part, but he expected to find dirt later. Blood had dried around a few scratches on his cheeks-and the charcoal dust that he’d smudged around his eyes to disguise his face was, ironically, the only thing that had remained, though he didn’t exactly need it now. The look of it had grown on him actually..though not the cuts and scrapes. He needed a bath.  
_And some food,_ his stomach reminded him - but as he reached into his hood for the apple he’d stolen, his fingers only brushed cloth.  
_Dammit._  
He vaguely recalled a _thud_ near his head at one point during his run. The apple must have fallen out.  
A hand going to his pocket reaffirmed that the dagger was still there at least..but now what? The obvious answer would be to look around the woods for food, since heading back to civilization would be suicide at this point and despite the cracks Virgil often made to himself, he really did not have a death wish. But...he got to his feet and looked around. The space he sat in was clear, and filled with pale sunlight, but as he gazed into the woods where food would most likely be found, he felt chills go up his spine.  
No, no, he was being irrational. Just anxiety getting to him. Just because the long branches cast twisting shadows on the ground, and the gorse was thick enough to hide who-knows-what from view, and the trees almost seemed to meld together in places - how in the world had he managed to run through that yesterday? - none of that meant that it was any more dangerous than any other forest. After all, he’d survived yesterday.  
Barely. But that wasn’t because of anything in the woods!  
Okay. Virgil took a breath, taking the dagger from his inside pocket and gripping it tightly in his left hand. It would be fine, he would be fine.  
Another loud belly rumble made up his mind for him. He was starving, all that running the previous day had seen to that. Tugging his patchy, thin jacket around his shoulders and rubbing some dried blood off his jaw, Virgil set off into the trees.

 

The woods were indeed just as dark now in the dawn hours as they had been during the evening. In fact, they seemed almost darker, possibly from how gray the cloud-filtered light was as opposed to the setting gold of the sun. His body was constantly cloaked in darkness, but he tried to focus on how well his dark hair and clothing blended in with the dappling of shadow and light. But when a noise, like a low growl, brought him swiveling to stare at a patch of bramble, knife gripped tightly in his pale hand, he found that harder to believe. But when nothing emerged, he continued ahead.  
Virgil still couldn’t find anything that could be eaten. He was far from a hunter, so even though he’d spied animals scurrying through the underbrush, they served more to unsettle his already jumpy self than assure him he could find food, after all he had only this puny knife on him. Which was starting to make him feel far less safe, for there was that sound again - a rustling not too far off. Just some little rodent... _please?_  
Nothing. Again. Worrying the worn fabric of his right sleeve between his thumb and index finger, Virgil carried on pushing through branches and climbing over fallen logs, trying to keep his guard up in a way that _didn’t_ send him jumping out of his skin at every opportunity.  
Him being..well, him, it was a bit of a lost cause.

The sun was now officially up. He’d been wandering through the woods for a few hours now, and no tree bore fruit, no bush showed berries, he didn’t _dare_ touch the mushrooms - there weren’t any vegetables either!  
“How does anything survive here?” Virgil groaned to himself - and there it was again.  
_Snap._  
He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and he repeated the same mantra he had every other time he’d heard a snapping twig, or the rustling of large body in the undergrowth, or eyes gleaming-  
Wait.  
_Oh no._  
Virgil’s breath caught in his throat, because yes, there, sure enough..those were eyes peering back at him from the bush. An eerie amber-brown. His fist clenched tightly around the knife and he took a step back. _Can’t I catch a break?_  
Terror clutched his chest, his limbs going cold as he watched a snout emerge from the brush. And as the beast stepped out, _oh god I’m gonna die, this is it, I am dead._  
A massive wolf, with tan patches on its gray fur, had slunk out of the bush. It circled him, and Virgil’s heart was practically in his mouth, adrenaline coursing through his veins.  
He couldn’t run, why hadn’t it attacked yet?? No matter. He couldn’t run. It hadn’t jumped-  
And then the beast leaped.  
In a feat of acrobatics he hadn’t known he was capable of, Virgil ducked and rolled to the side, reaching up in an attempt to slash the wolf’s throat, but only succeeded in cutting off a patch of fur which fell to the grassy floor.  
Seems he’d chosen fight.  
The wolf actually..paused for a second. If he was actually insane, he might have thought it looked hurt. But then it growled, and he sucked in a huge breath, scrambling backwards until his back hit a tree. How was he alive, it was massive and had huge teeth, but then it was all a blur, as he ducked behind the tree and ran, fleeing for his life for the second time in two days, heart pounding, slashing away a branch and hoping the wolf smelled better prey-  
There was a snarl. A weight on Virgil’s back and he crashed to the ground. A scream was ripped from his throat before his head smacked into a root and he saw stars at the edge of his vision, hot breath on his neck.  
_Ha, looks like I am dying alone._  
But..the bite didn’t come.  
He lay there, prone, helpless, and despite his confusion still trembling with terror, chancing a look back at the beast pinning him to the ground.  
It had frozen.  
And then, Virgil witnessed something that could only be described as a miracle.  
The wolf walked away.  
He couldn’t believe it. That - that wasn’t possible. He should be dead. But if he was dead how was he hallucinating?  
No, the only logical assumption..was that he was indeed alive. And that a wolf, a _predator,_ had just let him go.  
Shakily, disbelievingly, the thief sat up. His head was spinning from the impact, muscles practically vibrating with adrenaline. He glanced back at the underbrush, but there was no sign of the wolf. It seemed his suspicions of being followed _hadn’t_ been unreasonable paranoia, Virgil thought, and he actually let out a laugh. A shock-induced, giddy laugh. And he laughed, the sound high-pitched and shrill, terrified, until his stomach hurt and he was clutching it and _oh sweet heavens he was alive._  
When he finally came down from the high the adrenaline dump had given him, Virgil was shivering. And even hungrier. His head fell back against the warped bark of an oak and he groaned.  
Well, good news, he was alive...bad news, that might not last.  
He couldn’t see the position of the sun through the thick foliage, so no exact estimate on the time, but judging from how much light he could see and how tired he felt, it was likely that his exploration had lasted a few hours at least. Well…  
“Back to it,” the thief sighed, slowly getting to his feet - realizing that his left hand hurt from gripping the dagger so hard. Oh well. His quest for nourishment resumed. And really, he was too beaten down to shudder at how the light seemed to be fading despite only having walked for ten minutes, or to care about almost having stepped on a snake hiding under a root.

Another half hour passed, and the woods had grown almost pitch black, so Virgil was stumbling through the woods more literally than before, when he finally saw light streaming through the finger-like branches.  
Peering through a gap in the bushes, he felt himself melt with relief.  
A house - no, a manor.  
The surrounding trees cast the house in the shadow of their near impenetrable canopy, so it was hard to tell if the bricks were truly as black as they looked. It seemed to have a central turret rising a bit above the rest of the roof, which was steep, the shingles missing in places. Shaded windows jutted out from just about every wall, three or four stories from the looks of their placement. Tall spikes lay along the roof like spines along the back of a lizard, chimneys scattered haphazardly along the ridge, though none produced smoke. Virgil’s eyes swept to the left end of the manor, past the door - which he did not want to go anywhere near, if the weathered statue of a serpent arched over the door frame said anything about the manor’s possible inhabitants.  
A shiver ran up his spine, and he was about to turn tail and run back towards the territory of the rabid _wolf_ -  
But then he spotted it. Past the witch-hat turret sprouting out of the left wall, there was a fence of black iron, the tips of the posts like spears pounded into the dark grass, then curled around each other, intricately woven vines of metal.  
But it was what was _behind_ them that was the good part.  
He could see plants, tall leaves, but most importantly, splashes of orange, red, there was fruit in there, there was a dark purple fruit hanging from the tree just behind the gate! Plums, probably. Virgil sighed, loudly in relief. Food. His stomach growled. Sure, by all means, he should turn away from the house that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, the light streaming down from a single gap in the foliage above the highest turret casting a golden glow over the roof that wasn’t soft or comforting, but thick and eerie, like it was being filtered through sludge-the shadows that trailed over his back and didn’t seem to let go.  
But he was starving.  
So against every instinct in his nervous mess of a body, Virgil ran to the gate. He didn’t think as he gripped the cold metal of the fence and jumped up, his leather boots hitting the bars of the fence and he grunted with the effort of pulling himself up posts that were twice his height. Virgil gritted his teeth and pulled, finally gripping the tip of the post and dragging - he hissed loudly as the metal sliced the pale palm of his hand, but among all the other abrasions on his body at this point, who cared? Blood stained the iron gate, and he was sure his black jacket tore a bit, but what was another patch. All that mattered was that he’d scaled the fence, his feet thudding onto the grass. He heard a crunch. Still panting, Virgil looked down-oh.  
The splattered remains of some blue vegetable were spread around his shoes, it looked like the mushy insides of some gourd he couldn’t name. Ah well. He wiped his black boots on the grass, which was brown and dry in this corner, though others looked more lush. Shadowed brown eyes fixated on the plum tree in the middle, and that was what he headed for.  
Virgil passed a tall grass with oddly curly leaves, a deep red flower the size of his head, a few bulging orange fruits..and then the tree. It was taller than he’d expected, the trunk looking like many other thin trunks bound together by invisible thread. The bark was pale, it didn’t really look like a plum tree..but honestly? All Virgil knew about plums was that they were purple..so he plucked one of the three indigo fruits he could see on the tree down and bit into it. The flavor exploded into his mouth, he expected it to be tart but no, it was juicy and..oddly sour yet sweet at the same time.  
Delicious.  
He finished it off quickly, and against his better judgement, grabbed another, and then the last one. Woah. Dizzy for a second..Virgil shook his head and stood up, wiping the purple juice from his lips and then drying his hand on his pants. He yawned and stretched, feeling the wind whistle past his ear and stir up the grass behind him with a faint hissing sound. He shivered, wow, cold for what (judging by the amount of light streaming through the gap in the trees) was about noon.  
After a moment to thank whatever gods existed for his now _finally_ full stomach, Virgil turned around to scale the-  
Oh god.  
The light must have convinced him the stone serpent was gray..for it wasn’t. It was a dusty olive color-but most importantly, _not made of stone and coiled literally ten feet away!_  
And now he was sure those couldn’t have been plums, for as the serpent reared its head to strike-it was not a snake’s head that he saw, but a man’s. A man in a black cloak, trimmed with the same yellow of his eyes, the snake’s tail flowing seamlessly into his dark pants as it twisted, strangely and unnaturally, yet seamlessly into this being. And as Virgil stood there, wondering first how, and second why, (surely petty thievery wouldn’t cause karma to strike him in such terrible ways so many times), the serpent-turned-man lifted up his head, lips half-made of scales curling up in a smirk.  
“A thief? In my garden? I’m not surprised at all, you are most welcome here..”  
He didn’t believe the words.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Uh holy shit? Who am I? I actually kept with my regular writing schedule? XD okay, now I hope this gets seen because tumblr’s tags have been unreliable at best lately. Notes for this chapter..well I mean I enjoyed torturing Virgil building more of this story for you guys! And also I love my beta reader for being a lovely supportive birb even though I discriminated against their kind, Sparrow was also very offended that there are no sparrows/crows in this and has threatened to sue for bird discrimination. Oh and one more thing-P!ATD fans, can you spot the reference?)  
> (ALSO: I didn't make this very clear and it's my bad, but Roman's prologue takes place one month after everything Virgil is currently going through. Hope I didn't point that out too late)
> 
> Warnings: Panic attacks, slight memory loss maybe? Birb discrimination.

Virgil stood, frozen, as the serpent-man tipped his hat. But the smirk was fading, rapidly being replaced by something of a grimace.

“Do you have any idea what you just ate?”

A question. Something he was supposed to answer. Quickly Virgil snapped out of his terrified stupor and crossed his arms, glowering at the stranger. It was also a relief to notice he had higher ground, even by just a bit.

“A plum?”

The man gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Oh yes, a plum, that’s  _ definitely  _ what it was, it’s not like that’s an incredibly rare Odileé tree behind you, with fruit that only sprouts once every decade..”

Virgil took a step back, his eyes widening. What? That wasn’t  _ poison _ was it? Oh shit, what the hell had he just eaten? What was this snake-man going to do to him? Oh no, staying here wouldn’t do...his hand immediately went to the inside of his jacket where he’d stored the knife before climbing the fence -  _ had to do something- _

But the man snapped his fingers and against his will, the thief’s hand flew out and was promptly pinned to his side by an invisible force.

_ Magic. _

_ Oh I’m in for it now. _

He felt his breathing hitch, and for the third time today panic threatened to take over his mind as the magician stepped closer. He may have stood shorter than Virgil, but there was only a split second to process the difference before the same invisible hand that was holding Virgil’s arms to his sides shoved him down to his knees on the grass. Why hadn’t he thought better, now he was probably going to be killed or imprisoned for stupid, petty _thievery_ when he could have just walked a little longer!? And who knew what those fruits would do to him!

Virgil squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for the worst even though he hated to go down without a fight-

“Oh don’t worry, I  _ won’t  _ punish you for stealing my supplies.”

Wait, what? Virgil peeked up, the looming terror subsiding a bit until he realized that those words had dripped with the same sarcasm that every other had. 

Lies.

The man raised his other hand, words Virgil couldn’t seem to hear forming on his tongue, the air around his fingers seeming to warp and shimmer like the air above a bonfire. And then Virgil felt the spell hit him, digging into his skin so it tingled strangely, and suddenly his head was spinning, he felt like he was shrinking, and oh god no _ gonna throw up gonna throw up _ -

And then his vision went black.

***

_ My head… _

_ Wait, my everything.. _

Slowly, the cotton cleared from Virgil’s head. Indeed, every bone in his body hurt. His head felt too heavy to lift, like it was filled with lead...what had that sorcerer done?

Wait, where was he?   
He wasn’t in a dungeon. Or any room. No, this was grass against his cheek...had something messed with his mind or did the blades seem a lot bigger than usual?

His body felt oddly light too, for not feeling like he could move it. It was as if the only thing missing was all his energy.

But he had to get up. After all, who knows what could happen, the magician could still be around, playing with him, or there could be animals around-

Focus. Virgil concentrated first on opening his eyes. Slowly, but surely, his leaden eyelids lifted and he was greeted with a sideways view of...the lake?

Sure enough, that was gleaming silver water, but he hadn’t been anywhere near any lake! Why would the magician take him all the way out here? The thought sent a fresh wave of resolve through him, to  _ understand,  _ figure it all out-so ever so slowly, he lifted his head from the grass. Huh, not as hard as he thought.  _ Maybe he just cursed me with fatigue,  _ Virgil thought to himself, and sat up.

Or at least he tried to.

Because, when he tried to use his arms to push at the ground, he realized to his horror that he  _ could not feel his fingers _ . And upon turning his head to see why, he felt his blood run cold. 

Where a pale, thin, and somewhat dirty hand should have been splayed in the grass, all he could see were black feathers in its place.Then when he opened his mouth to scream, he realized he could not feel teeth in his mouth, and when he went to run his tongue over his lips those were gone too and suddenly he looked down to not see his own body, but a mass of silky black feathers and thin, webbed feet. 

_ I am a bird. _

Virgil’s chest tightened. Panic settled in quicker than it ever had before, and his breathing (a bird breathing through its beak, how strange) began to come in ragged gasps. The air was pressing in on him like the weight of water, oh god, why had he done that, he could have waited longer,  _ and now he was a bird, he was a fucking bird, oh he was going to die, as a bird of all things, but nonononononono- _

At one point he felt his tiny body fall over, his new muscles seeming to go numb. He hadn’t known that birds could cry, but he felt tears pricking at his eyes and suddenly he was a full on panicking, sobbing mess of black feathers. His head was sickeningly light now, and he almost begged for the leaden weight again. He couldn’t even see properly, his vision was swimming like he would pass out for, what, the third time? Couldn’t remember. Didn’t know. Had it ever been this bad before? Same answer. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Not enough air, he was gasping again but still dizzy. _ Head, air, dizzy, faint, dead, bird, bird, dead,  _ the thought repeated like a mantra until finally, blessed finally, his body gave out and he slumped to the grass,  arms wings splayed out. His chest ached, and he probably looked dead already, but it was already a matter of time wasn’t it…?

 

Virgil just laid there. He didn’t know how long, but the sun was far past its apogee by now. Where had he even learned that word. Apogee. Didn’t matter. Would never matter again.

But eventually he had to open his eyes.    
The lake is what he saw. That same, unchanging expanse of glittering silvery water. Lucky it.    
_ I’m jealous of a lake now? Wow. That’s a new low. _

He would have laughed if he could. As he was, it came out an obnoxious _honk_ that startled him so much his whole body jolted. And that made him laugh again at the absurdity of this. Repeat cycle. _Ah yes, shock-induced hysteria my old friend, didn’t you just visit this morning?_

His breath ran out far quicker than it needed to. Already exhausted. But sleeping? Out here? Like this? No, he couldn’t do that..Virgil half questioned why he even cared about surviving if it was only like  _ this.  _

But he knew the reason. Even if his existence was barren, boring, and pointless, he was too much of a coward to consider just..letting himself burn out. It sent a shiver up his spine.

Virgil’s black head fell to grass that now felt far less soft, as if resigned to his fate. That wouldn’t be an incorrect statement..but rather than resigning to death, he was submitting to a much more pitiful fate.   
Life as a bird.

A few more minutes passed. And finally, he pulled himself to his webbed feet - though it probably looked ridiculous, all confused limbs and flapping wings that didn’t know how to get him into the air. Virgil would have blushed if he could, even though it wasn’t like anyone was around - but he still felt stupid. Oh well. Next objective: what kind of bird even was he?

That was simple enough. Stepping forward carefully on too-short legs (how did they even support him) he moved to the edge of the water. 

Staring back at him was a black swan.

His feathers were ruffled and slightly dusty from all the flopping on the ground, but he could tell how sleek and dark they are. When he spread his wings, he saw they were about twice the length of his - actually rather slim - body.

Of course, he’d seen a swan before, but never a black one. So the thing that caught him the most off guard was the shockingly bright red of his bill. It struck him that he didn’t actually know what swans ate. But given that food was to cause for this, well...life-shattering disaster, he didn’t really feel inclined to think of food. Not right now. Likely not for a while.   
Fuck. A silver lining, that’s what he needed, though it was impossible to think of anything really.

Not now. But he needed something to do.

Well.   
Maybe figuring out how to work his own body was a good use of time.

 

So, the thief-turned-swan set to work. It was better like this, distracting himself from the horrors nibbling at his mind that would no doubt send him into another attack by sunset with a solid task.   
First was walking. He picked that up quick enough, although it still seemed strange that such a large bird could stand on such stick-thin legs.

During that, he also figured out all the weird ways this body could bend, including taking a full minute to contemplate how strange it was that his neck was now so long he could turn his head and lay it along his spine.

And then there were only two options left. The air and the water, and no way in or out of hell was Virgil about to try and fly. So, despite how much he disliked the idea of the no-doubt cold water soaking his feathers, it was better than the alternatives: falling to his death, or falling to his existential crisis.

So, tentatively, he stepped one black-skinned foot into the mirror-like surface, sending a ripple through the previously unbroken sheet of water. His other followed, and from there settling down onto its surface felt almost natural. It was strange, as he pushed off the bank and paddled with his webbed feet towards deeper water  why was he doing that again and glanced back with one eye, watching the v-shaped disturbance in the lake behind him, how naturally his rounded body floated on top of the water like he was his own boat.  His feathers didn’t even get soaked through, rather when he lifted his wings and flapped them, the droplets flew from the feathers, glittering in the sunlight like crystal, then falling to the surface of the water and creating tiny dips in it. The feathers ruffled, but once he lay them back down they felt dry. Huh.

From here, he could also get a far better view of the lake.

The section of shore he’d been on before was actually a divot inward-so, as he swam out further, he could see that there was far more of the water than he’d thought before. On every side, it was surrounded by trees, often there would be long, thin branches reaching out over the water and casting feathery shadows on the surface. In seeing the rest of the water, he had expected to spot more birds, ducks perhaps, but nothing. He was the only creature disturbing this pristine silver surface, sending ripples through the flawless reflection of the colossal trees that twisted up into the sky far further than he’d thought possible, and the distant image of the snow-capped mountains.

It was..vaguely eerie, actually. The longer Virgil swam, the colder the water seemed to get, and the silence grew thick and deafening..well of course it would be unnatural here. 

There was a magician in this forest after all. As he thought about it, suddenly the massive trees and utter lack of food began to make sense, along with the face-like patterns in the plants and the thick, lightless depths of the woods as a sharp contrast to this still, glittering lake surrounded with lush green grass. Magic did strange things to nature, that was one common fact about the mysterious subject.

He would be chewing on his lip if he had lips. Or teeth. But as it was, he tried his best to stuff the growing uneasiness in the pit of his stomach into some box he could lock and ignore. It didn’t really work, and he still couldn’t get his mind off it. Virgil drifted closer to the bank in an attempt to feel less exposed out in the open water, but then he heard a rustling, spotted a shadow, and quickly turned tail to paddle back to the more closed-off area of shore he’d come to be familiar with. If animals had been dangerous when he was a nearly six-foot human carrying a knife, then they’d be his doom as a tiny swan with no clue how to fly.

A shiver ran along his spine as he stepped onto the bank, fluffing out his feathers and shaking them to expel some of the dampness. 

What now..

That was the million dollar question..what exactly was he supposed to do with himself? What does a human trapped in a bird’s body do? He couldn’t exactly ask the sorcerer to turn him back, could he? No, the thought made him scoff-or at least whatever you’d call the sound, he’d probably be snapped up in the man’s terrifying snake jaws. Plus. He probably wouldn’t be understood anyway.

But Virgil was soon spared from these thoughts.

 

_ Snap. _

He whipped his head around, peering over his spine, eyes that had remained deep brown even through the transformation scanning the thorny bushes between two trees that leaned in opposite directions to touch, creating a triangle-shaped arch. 

Nothing. 

Or so he thought. Because then he did indeed spy something, a pair of eyes shining through the dark. And then a head. And then a body.   
An all-too familiar shape stepped through the leaves, tan and gray, stepping lightly and carefully over the grass, fur rippling over its shape.

The wolf.

Ice locked around Virgil’s heart, and he flapped his wings wildly, fear of heights going out the window, he was _ sure  _ to die if he remained on the ground! But the second he got into the air he lost balance, falling back onto the dirt. Now his breathing was picking up, adrenaline running like cold fire through his blood, and if he had hands they’d be shaking. He was so small. So defenseless. And his breath was coming in gasps that made his chest burn, no no not another attack, come on,  _ THINK! _

Wait. The water. The water! Immediately Virgil was dashing to the lakeside as fast as his legs could carry him - until the wolf leaped right in front of him. At this point, he knew he was done for. 

Staring into those piercing blue eyes- Wait, blue eyes? Wolves didn’t have blue eyes, he’d been told that every time one was around in a town with dogs! But this wasn’t a dog, clearly, it was too large and long and lean- he felt his feathers rise to what must be practically vertical, and oh god how he wished he could scream, he should be saying his goodbyes to the world and  _ god  _ he actually was going to die as a bird-

The wolf’s nose came closer, and his vision somehow could focus on nothing else, its jaws were opening and oh god oh please he didn’t want to d-

The wolf...barked?

Virgil’s brain should have short-circuited then and there, but then he was hit with another realization. He’d  _ understood _ the bark. Not like the wolf was speaking English, but..as if the bark was a tone, and he’d interpreted its meaning yet not as a rough impression but exact words. And that’s where it got strange. Because those words had been very clear.

“Don’t run!”

Virgil’s bill dropped open, he couldn’t help it, the wolf hadn’t moved a muscle and neither had he, but now the spell of fear had been broken and he was just...it was just...bizzarre? Absurd? Impossible? Who knew! And his next words - well, it was more like the call of bugles he’d heard musicians use - weren’t laced with high-pitched fear. But it seemed his thoughts and words in danger had never aligned with the panic he felt coursing through him, for they came out harsh.   
“Don’t  _ run _ ?? You tried to kill me!”

Something flashed across the wolf’s face-there it was again! That strange, hurt look that he remembered from their earlier encounter. It sat down, very much doglike in posture.

“...I’m sorry. It’s been so long I just..I thought you were a trapper..but then when you ran-”

“Wait, you’re  _ apologizing _ ?” Somehow  _ that _ was crazier! Virgil took another step back, and the wolf raised its head - a pleading look in those impossible blue eyes.

“Yes! You were so scared! I realized that, that’s why I let you go! I wouldn’t kill an innocent person!”   
..so that’s why he was alive. Virgil blinked. The wolf seemed relieved that he hadn’t moved.

“I felt bad..so I followed you, I just wanted to make sure you got out of here safe to make up for it. But then you came across Dimitri’s manor and I’m sorry I couldn’t save you!”   
“...Dimitri? The magician?”   
The wolf nodded vigorously.  “Yes, him! I would have stopped you but I was sure if I tried you’d just run to the garden anyway. I saw him curse you, then you passed out and he just..tossed you over the fence so I took you back here.”

“You-” was that really how he’d ended up back at the lake? Where was rage when you needed it..Virgil just felt strange. Nothing, not even the few things that had been certain, made sense.   
But then they did.   
“Wait-did he curse you too?”   
The wolf bowed his head, and with that tiny nod, relief flooded Virgil’s body. He wouldn’t be eaten. The wolf-or person, had just been like him, afraid of being killed by people, and trying to right a wrong.Virgil’s feathers lay flat.

“So..he cursed you, and you’ve been a wolf ever since?” Another nod. “Yes..I don’t know how long it’s been, but it was a while ago..he doesn’t age,  and I guess we don’t either. Magic is like that. It changes things. I mean, not exactly, but I came here about forty years ago?”  
“F-forty?” Virgil’s jaw dropped. Again. He couldn’t imagine being like this for forty years! Although being a wolf was probably better than being a swan. But the wolf tilted its head, making what he was sure was supposed to be a reassuring smile.   
“Yeah..I think. I was just trying to get some new ingredients you know, I ran a bakery and it wasn’t going well..I made the same mistake you did. He caught me stealing berries and the next thing I know-” he used his nose to indicate his furry body, which now that Virgil could look at it safely, was a lot more well-groomed and rounded than he’d assumed it to be.

“I got used to it. Well,” his bark sounded like a sad laugh, “I dealt with it. But hey, life in the woods is pretty great! I even hung around the manor, got to learn all of the names and uses of his plants!   
“...sounds interesting..” 

The wolf was definitely smiling now. “It kind of is! And then the woods are beautiful once you really explore them! I can show you-wait, what’s your name?”   
The sudden chipperness had caught him off guard. But not like his name mattered now.

“It’s..Virgil. And yours?”   
“Virgil? That’s a unique name! Mine is-” but the wolf broke off. Confusion flitted across his tan face. “...mine is..I don’t remember.”

“Oh...”

“It’s okay!” There was the smile again. He wagged his tail. “I’m sure it’ll come back, it’s just been a while.”

Virgil nodded his head, but it still didn’t feel right to just brush off forgetting your own  _ name. _ Was this what would happen to him too? He’d forget who he was, his life, his name, his identity?

“Don’t worry.”

“That’s kinda all I do…” he muttered.

The wolf frowned, reaching his muzzle out - and when Virgil automatically jerked his head back, his ears drooped a bit. Quickly realizing the automatic reaction had made the canine feel bad, Virgil carefully reached his neck out. 

He received a soft lick.

Well...at least he wouldn’t be alone.

 

Virgil wasn’t normally one for company, or talking much. But suppose he didn’t have much of a choice now, the companionship kept him from wallowing in his own sorrows and it would be a lie to say that the presence of a friendly wolf didn’t make him feel just a bit safer under the thick trees.

Plus. His companion was doing most of the talking, either making up for lost time, just a naturally chatty person, or having caught on to the fact that Virgil didn’t like to talk a lot he wasn’t sure. But it was a relief either way.

“...so I do have to hunt, and that sucked for a while, but I got over it, and if you don’t think about it it’s kind of like a game! Oh-look there, see that holly bush? I found a whole den of rabbits under there about a month ago, that was a surprise! I mean-“ some embarrassment but also adoration could be heard in the wolf’s voice. “I didn’t eat them..of course not, they were just so cute and I even saw a couple bunnies! Would have been nice to pet them..”

Currently, at the wolf’s insistence, they were walking through the woods, Virgil listening to him talk about the environment, experiences..to be honest he hadn’t had someone willingly talk to him for this long before. It was hard to tell what time it was, but the light filtered through the dark leaves was tinged with orange now, so he assumed the sun was beginning to lower in the sky. Flapping his wings to aid in his clumsy leap over a fallen log, Virgil resumed his stride next to the wolf, who had adjusted his pace to accommodate the swan. 

But as they crossed through darker patches of shadow, Virgil became unable to focus on the wolf’s ramblings.

“Hey...you mentioned you were watching Dimitri’s garden, right?”

He nodded.

“Why does he do this to people!?” Virgil burst out, throwing his wings out for emphasis and smacking his companion’s leg in the process. All he received was a sigh.

“...I think he’s just possessive of his garden. Some of those fruits take years to grow. But you’re right, I wonder who hurt him to make him like this,” The wolf’s ears drooped, “Certainly wouldn’t be his brother.”

“His brother?” Virgil frowned.

“Yeah. He has a brother that shows up every decade or so, I think it’s to drink a potion or something because he always comes out after a couple weeks looking younger. But they don’t go outside a lot so I don’t know much about him. But I did see him a few days ago..”

Virgil nodded again. “..Do you know what all the plants in his garden do?”

The wolf sighed. “Some of them. Just the one he tends to the most often.”

“Do you know if any of them could turn us back?”

“No. I don’t think s-well..” 

Virgil looked up with just a hint of hope in his eyes, hearing the thoughtfulness behind the tone.

“What?”

The wolf paused in his steps, tilting his head to one side. “It’s not a fruit, but I do remember - oh yeah!” Suddenly his tail was wagging. “He left his spellbook outside a few years back and I read through it-he never caught me, but I did read a few ways to break transformations.”

There was a way? But wait...why had the wolf not tried to break it already if he knew how to break the curse?

Suddenly the hope that had just blossomed in Virgil’s chest blackened, it must be a catch..

“..what is it?”

The wolf frowned, trying to remember..and after a minute of tense silence, his expression brightened, and he spoke.

“Oh! It was-I think I’ve got the wording right-’To break a curse of transformation, another person with no..prior, no prior reason to care must wish as much as the cursed for them to return, and seal the healing with their undying loyalty.’”

 

It was in that moment that Virgil wished more than ever for his human face, if only to express the sheer amount of ‘are you fucking kidding me’ that he currently needed to express. As it was, he hoped the utterly flat, deadpan tone void of all emotion that he spoke with next was adequate.

“....are you seriously telling me that this curse is broken by ‘true love’.”

“I didn’t make the rules!!”

Virgil slowly nodded, still not lifting what facial expression-or lack thereof-he was currently capable of making. “Okay. I’m going to go fling myself into the sun.”

“Virgil-come on, it’s not that bad-I mean yeah we’re in the middle of the woods-but it’s not impossible! At least there’s a bit of hope..”

Hope was only barely in Virgil’s vocabulary. He looked up at the wolf, currently shooting him skilled puppy-dog eyes..and no, that was not a pun.

“Are you  _ sure _ that’s the only cure it listed?”   
“..yep..other than Dimitri lifting the curse himself. And even I know that’s not happening.”

“....yeah I’m going to go fly into the sun,” He lifted his wings, even though it was (at least partly) a joke. His companion took no chances - actually  _ pouncing  _ on him with a speed that made his little bird brain scream and freeze-at least until he realized that the wolf was only encircling him protectively, as if he was one of his pups. 

“Virgil. No.” The tone was oddly commanding. “I..I know it’s bad, but at least we have plenty of time..and you’re not alone?”   
“..optimistic is the opposite of me.”   
The wolf snorted, the puff of air from his snout ruffling Virgil’s head feathers. “Virgil, if you do not at least  _ try  _ to be positive I am going to lick you!”

That did shut him up. If begrudgingly.

They sat there for a while, the wolf curled around his companion’s tiny swan body, in a slightly awkward yet not really uncomfortable silence.

Until the wolf suddenly leapt to his feet, his blue eyes shining with delight.

“Wait!! Virgil I did it!”   
“...you did what?”   
“My name! I remembered it!”   
“So..what is it?”   
The wolf beamed, or at least tried to.   
“Patton!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (FINALLY! I am so sorry this took longer heh-I got sick and didn’t want to write, and then I volunteered at a 5-day nature camp. So real life got in the way {this never happens wtf I don’t have a life} And this chapter is a little shorter than the others, but I hope you like it! Also my beta has made the very smart decision of not trusting me. I don’t deserve to be trusted. And my ‘Virgil privileges have been revoked’, and yes that means Roman will be in the next chapter I know so exciting I’m finally bringing him back into this and it'll be an actual prinxiety fic!)  
> (also fun fact-Nora is named after my own morality heh)
> 
> (Warnings: None for this chapter I don't think..just general angst)

After that revelation, it still took Patton a bit of time to convince Virgil that no, there would be no flinging himself into the sun. Unused to this (or any) level of concern over a joke, Virgil quickly caved. They ended up doing a bit more exploring, until Virgil grew tired of climbing over fallen tree trunks and through bushes. While he expected to return to the lakeside, Patton insisted on them heading in the direction of his home. Considering he had also been told it was near the water, Virgil agreed, and soon they were nestled in a dip beneath the roots of a tree-perhaps it had been a large badger set, but now it was a rather large dirt cave, the exposed roots handing over the entrance. However, if you didn’t wander very deep, there was a lovely view of the lake. This must have been where Patton had watched him from...but vague creepiness aside, it was a nice spot to lie low. 

The mismatched companions—in shape, size, species, and attitude—settled by the entrance where thin roots hung like a dusty brown curtain, Patton lying down and curling his fluffy gray tail to his body as he stared out over the lake, Virgil sitting (though it felt more like collapsing on his stick-like legs) down and realizing his black feathers were ruffled and coated in pollen and dust.    
_ Ew _ . Well...how did he deal with that…

After an embarrassingly long three minutes of craning his head awkwardly and trying to flap dust from his wings (and oh was he thankful for Patton’s apparent preoccupation with the golden light cast over the smooth lakewater) Virgil finally managed to properly copy the preening motions he’d seen from ducks in the past, tucking his beak into his feathers and picking out bits of leaves and dirt. The movement even began to feel natural. But the silence didn’t. Previously comfortable, he realized that even though the situation was bizarre to say the least, he was still technically cleaning himself in another person’s residence. Not that the wolf seemed to mind, but Virgil still felt a bit odd doing it. Then again, this was a situation involving him and another person in the same area. So for course he felt odd. Clearing his throat - and producing a very strange ‘glawk’ sound - so that was getting Patton’s attention out of the way - he asked probably the most idiotic and insensitive question possible.

“..so. What was your life even like?”   
He winced as soon as the words left his  lips beak, but Patton didn’t seem to recoil or snap at all. On the contrary, his tail began to wag at the prospect of storytelling.

“Oh! Right! So-I already told you I was a baker, I had this really  _ sweet  _ place in a town pretty nearby actually! It was called the...the..” his enthusiasm disappeared for a moment. But soon he was back up, blue eyes gleaming with happiness.

“Well anyway, it was lovely! I a- _ dough- _ red it-” he stopped to make a small bark that sounded like a laugh, and Virgil sighed.

“-and for a while it ran pretty well but..well, then other places opened up. And they were knew, my place was my mom’s before mine, and we started to lose customers. It was pretty hard..my daughter was trying to help out in any way she could, but she was eight and couldn’t follow directions to save her life! Always jumping around and singing, she’d ramble about the butterflies on the windowsill, the woodgrain in the table, the leaves on the trees-” if his eyes had been shining before, now they practically glowed with pride and love.   
“Her name was Nora. And she was probably the universe’s compromise for not letting me near cats!” He let out another bark of laughter as Virgil tilted his head in confusion, “She’d always end up out of the house, no matter how many times I scolded her she’d end up out in the town, or in the woods, one time I remember she got honey in her hair and we had to chop it off..she never let it grow past her shoulders again.”

Then Patton paused. “Sorry, I’m rambling-”   
“It’s okay,” Virgil cut him off, voice quiet.

“Well anyway. When the bakery started losing business things got rough for the both of us. Nora even sold her favorite apron...but it was never enough. Eventually I figured looking for new ingredients that no one else had would give us the upper hand. I left her with my cousin Thomas, thought I’d only be gone for a couple days or so but..” the joy in his expression melted away, leaving the wolf looking tired and listless. Air left his nostrils in what sounded like a mix of a sigh and a sad chuckle. “Well, you know the rest.”

 

Virgil..wasn’t quite sure what to say. That was both serene and heartbreaking. All he could do was awkwardly duck his head back to straighten his tail feathers and hope that swans were hard to read, because he didn’t need Patton to know how much he was both oddly touched to have been confided in-and dejected, not just from the story but from the fact that he knew it was only due to him being the only one around.

“...she sounds great,” he mumbled lamely after the several beats of silence. Patton hadn’t moved from his spot and his tail wasn’t wagging, his fur gleaming almost gold in the light of the setting sun. He was worried for a moment, that he’d made the wolf reminisce on a painful memory—well, that was obviously true..but more so.

But it seemed that his companion could not be fazed for long. For as soon as the last feather on Virgil’s wing free of dust, he rose to his paws, shaking a bit of dirt from his coat. 

“Whew, you know, all this talking has got me thirsty! And hungry.”

Right. Food. That was still an uncomfortable outlier as far as Virgil was concerned. He vaguely recalled seeing a swan nibble on grass before, but he wasn’t sure. And doing things he wasn’t sure of —especially food-related things as of today—was not something he liked to do. But Patton was already squeezing out from under the root-curtain, so he might as well follow. 

The wolf led him to the water’s edge, where he bent his head and lapped at the gold-tinged surface. Virgil bent his own neck down and tried to scoop water into his red bill-but quickly realized it worked better to sort of sip from the lake as if his whole head was a straw. He quickly began gulping it down, he hadn’t drunk anything since the previous evening. 

The swan became aware of paws crunching grass, and he turned his head to see Patton walking away. He quickly realized he did not want to be left alone.   
“Wait-where are you going?” 

The wolf paused. “Hunting..”   
“Oh-uh right. I’ll just..be here then, I guess.”

“Okay-by the way, I saw a swan nibbling at those grasses on the left side of the lake, if you wanted to try there.”    
As Patton pushed back into the bracken, Virgil gave a quiet sigh of relief that he had just been offered advice on what he could eat without having to outright admit that he had no clue.

Once he’d drunk his fill of water, he slowly stepped out and settled down onto the water, paddling over to where the green fronds stuck out of the water. They didn’t look appetizing. If he could have curled his lip at the prospect, Virgil would’ve, but of course that wasn’t an option. So instead, with his best swan-version of a grimace, he stuck his neck out and chomped down on the tall watergrass. It tasted-well, like grass. Slightly crisper than he’d expected (or maybe remembered, who  _ didn’t _ eat grass as a kid after all) but at least it wasn’t bad. 

_ I can get used to it, _ Virgil thought, and then cringed at the idea that he  _ had _ to get used to it. So he tried to think of other things, but nothing came to mind, other than the taste of grass on his tongue and the coolness of the water. Zoning out worked though. It was easier to focus on nothing, until he’d cropped quite a bit of the stalks away. In his distraction, he even found himself scooping some of the weeds that coated the golden surface of the water with bunches of tiny soft leaves into his mouth. He almost spat them out when he realized, but then he noticed that his belly was full and they didn’t taste that bad. So he swallowed, and swam back to the shore with a happy body but a troubled mind.

Virgil settles on the bank, smoothing his feathers and staring out at the sunset’s golden-amber reflection on the smooth water that still remains mysteriously undisturbed except for the tiny remains of ripples from his own travel.    
He starts in surprise when there’s a rustling behind him, feathers fluffing as he swiveled his head around-but it’s only Patton, carrying two plump rabbits in his jaws. The wolf settled beside him, placing his back to Virgil as he curled around the carcasses as if to conceal them. Virgil wasn’t really squeamish when it came to dead animals, but it was a note to the perception of Patton he already had, that he’d prefer not to be seen eating once-living prey. So Virgil turned his head back to the horizon, but one question did come to mind.

“...that’s enough?”   
He had to wait a second for a reply. “..not really. But I don’t have a pack to hunt deer or anything, and I could never hurt the little fawns-they’re just babies-I mean I have to sometimes, but never the little ones..the rabbits are fine if I eat often enough.”

After hearing the thinly veiled discomfort in his voice at the confession, Virgil realized it was best to shut up and let Patton chew his food in silence. So that’s what he did.

 

Soon the wolf was done, and, after licking his chops, he picked up the two carcasses and dragged them to a nearby bush, burying the bloody bones under the earth. Then he settled beside Virgil and dunked his front paws in the lake before licking the remaining muck off that was almost humorous to the swan. Still a little human.    
He lay beside Virgil, soft gray and tan fur tickling at the swan’s black feathers, and the silence that fell over them was calming. 

There weren’t many other sounds in the woods or by the banks, as the sun dipped just enough that the golden rays glittering across the lake turned to amber, and then to crimson as the underbellies of the few clouds were doused with the same pinkish-gold light, the tops darkening to a blue so dark it was almost black. Virgil had never been in an apt location to view the sunset like this before..or maybe he just never had the time, but now the thief found himself captivated by the silhouettes of the colossal trees, flat shapes of black lacking dimension against the brilliant shades of the sky. The sun further dipped to touch the horizon, a single stripe of yellow shooting across the water like an arrow made of light. Virgil didn’t even consider looking away..not as the golden aura faded, not as the sky faded back to a desaturated blue and then a darker one, as the expanse of brilliant colors sank farther down until finally, they were gone-and all that was left was a deep, unbroken expanse of deep navy sky.

And that was when Virgil felt heat blossom in his chest.

 

For the first millisecond he ignored it. But then it was very real, and as he looked down at the source of the strange feeling-he saw the air warping around his body just like it had when the magician had first raised a hand to him-a frightened, shocked trumpeting came from his beak-and Virgil’s head turned to Patton, who he could now see getting to his feet with a look of shock in his blue eyes-and he realized the wolf was getting smaller.

And  _ then _ Virgil realized  _ he  _ was getting  _ larger _ .

There was only a split second of time where he could see the air distort around his wings, like the feathers were melding together and slimming down the shape-

Then his vision blinked out, and for a moment that sent his heart to his mouth he was blind, until Virgil felt something soft encase him and a bone-deep ache shoot through his body, shaky knees hitting the grass as gasps of air left his mouth and he barely managed to catch himself and prevent a faceplant into the dirt.

The next realization hit with an icy wave as strong as his shock to the whole process-because wings couldn’t support you when pressed flat to the ground.

But the pale hands he could see digging into the bank could.

A laugh ripped from Virgil’s throat, a massive, giddy smile breaking out over a face that, he found, bringing one hand up to feel the skin, was perfectly human. Smudged with dirt no doubt, but as he looked himself over with a glee he’d never had viewing his own body before, he found everything was just as it was before. Every rip and patched piece of fabric in place, hair flopping in his face, and he realized the charcoal smudges were included in that when his fingers came away black at the tips. A massive smile broke across his face and Virgil wrapped his arms around himself, hugging, for once in his life relishing his bony form and ragged outfit, for it was  _ his  _ and not some bird’s. Free, free, the nightmare was over!

The nightmare..

After a moment of just thanking every possible deity he could think of at the moment, he registered the fact that Patton was likely still staring. And, turning his head, Virgil found that assumption correct.

“....what?”

The question came as a practical whimper from the wolf’s jaws, and two things flooded Virgil’s mind. Questions and guilt. How had he changed back? Why hadn’t he thought of that first? Why now? Was it permanent? Why wasn’t the spell permanent? How could it have been broken? What if this was some sort of fever dream and he’d fallen asleep due to eating some sort of poisonous plant? Why hadn’t Patton changed back? Why was his breathing qui-wait. That one he did know. The thief quickly squeezed his shadowed eyes shut and bit his lip, taking a single deep breath as he reminded himself that this was  _ good. _ He held it for a second, then reopened his eyes, trying not to cringe at Patton’s shocked expression. 

Though only one word came to mind when he opened his mouth.

“How?”   
The word sounded rough, as if he’d just woken up from a 14-hour nap, but in a way he had. 

“I-” He was relieved that he could still understand the meaning behind Patton’s soft whine, but not quite..he sounded lost and confused after all. 

He couldn’t even dwell in the elation of having his own body back, god, moron. He’d gotten attached. Virgil liked to  pretend that didn’t happen easily, on the contrary it did and that was why he avoided it. But seeing the lost look on the wolf’s face made his own dark eyes flicker to the grass, pale fingers threading through the blue-tinged grass. Distraction. He needed to say something. And yet, while joy and relief was still sending tingles down his gloriously human body, a sense of foreboding had settled like a stone in his stomach. Of course he couldn’t be happy. Just his luck.

“This is great!!”   
Virgil blinked, head shooting up in surprise. Great? Why did Patton sound so cheery, he’d looked completely distraught just a moment ago..and yet now there was no trace of anguish, he looked to be beaming, back on his paws as he leaned in and nuzzled his cold nose against Virgil’s smudged cheek. His lips twitched, but smiling was barely a possibility.

“..it is?”   
“Of course!” Yep, that chipper tone again. “You’re-you’re you!”   
“But-how?” Was he asking how it had happened or how Patton was so happy all of a sudden? Didn’t know. The wolf tilted his head. 

“Not sure...I mean the curse would have to break somehow, maybe Dimitri lifted it?”   
“..would he actually do that?”   
“Well-I don’t think so but maybe..”

Patton seemed to grasp at air to find an answer, though his hands - or paws - came up empty. Virgil gazed down at himself again, running pale hands over his arms, legs, and torso. Really there, he could confirm again.

There was a moment of silence before Patton spoke up again.   
“Well-I guess you can go then-if you wanted I mean. Since you’re not trapped here anymore. You’ve probably got places to be after all, I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to get out of the woods, towns are pretty nice after all..”

Virgil just scoffed, not looking up as his hand discovered - to his pleasant surprise - the long shape of the dagger in his coat, just where he’d left it.

“No, I don’t have anywhere to be..I’d probably be arrested if I went back the way I came, might as well lie low here for a bit-” plus, what if this magical escapade wasn’t really over..

However, Patton seemed to have zeroed in on a particular phrase.

“Arrested??”

Oh. 

Virgil winced ever so slightly, catching his chapped lip between his teeth. He’d figured Patton had seen him running from the guard, but maybe he hadn’t spotted him until the next day?   
“I-I stole some stuff. Food. I mean not that  _ that  _ did me any good, I lost it like-immediately. And a dagger.”   
“...you’re a thief?”   
Oh no, why that tone. It sounded hurt, fuck, why hadn’t he just watched his tongue? Patton had been an innocent baker, of course he wouldn’t want to associate with a villainous street rat-

“Why? What happened?”

He froze. Oh...that wasn’t the hurt of betrayal in his voice. No, it was..concern? Why would he be concerned, Patton had no investment in his life. He was just going to leave in a week or so anyway right? Plus it was fine. He hadn’t been driven to this by some..horrible tragedy after all. Well-no.

Virgil quickly cleared his throat, erasing the fear and replacing it with a glare directed at the grass.

“Nothing.”

“But it can’t be-”   
“Then I don’t want to talk about it.”

He must have sounded a bit harsher than intended, as when Virgil eventually looked up, Patton had laid back down, his nose resting on his paws-and ears twisted back. 

The thief bit his lip, bringing one knee to his chest and hugging it. His eyes flitted back to gaze at the lake, reflecting the silhouetted shapes of black mountains, and the silver half-moon that floated alone in the deep blue sky.

His silent awe was interrupted by a yawn, and it was then that he realized that he’d run until he passed out the previous night, then wandered all morning, eaten three fruits, passed out again, and had been awake since. A wave of exhaustion hit him like a rockslide, seeping into his bones. Virgil sighed. Well, he didn’t have too great a list of options when it came to sleeping. He could ask Patton to crash in his den but no, that’d be intruding. But what else was he supposed to do? Sleep on the bank? He’d gotten lucky the first time..and Patton couldn’t be the only wolf around, by far he’d be the tamest. He couldn’t just  _ sleep  _ in the woods with who-knows-what and a  _ magician  _ around!

It took five minutes of his social anxiety furiously battling his general sense of self-preservation, before the latter won out. Of course, it still took him another three for him to actually work up the courage to ask something like that, especially after he’d just snubbed the friendly wolf. 

“Hey-uh, I was just wondering-could I maybe sleep in your den? Just until I find a better spot-I mean I know it’s your place and all-”

What he didn’t expect was for the wolf to visibly perk up, head rising from his paws and ears lifting to attention, offering that strange, canine smile. “Of course!”

Well that was a relief...Virgil tried to offer a small, grateful smile. It came across as more sheepish, but whatever.

“Thanks..”   
The smile dropped as quickly as it had come, but rather than...well, something negative, like Virgil automatically expected, what came out was worry.

“Oh-oh gosh, I just realized-you poor kiddo, you’ve had the roughest past couple days I’ve ever seen, you’d better get some sleep!”   
There wasn’t even a moment to protest to the overly protective attitude before Virgil was being aggressively nosed to his feet and pushed from the bank into the trees, towards the overhanging roots that marked Patton’s den. He might have pulled himself away out of simple dignity, but something about the determined manner the wolf was pushing him and the almost parental tone of his words gave him the feeling that he should remember that Patton was, in fact, a wolf.    
So, he let himself be herded into the den, having to crawl to fit and ending up brushing dust out of his hair. Luckily, though it couldn’t quite fit a human in any position higher than sitting, and it was dirty, if he took off his patched jacket and used it as a pillow—his plain black tunic was enough for warmth in the summer weather—he could curl rather comfortably a little ways inside the cave.

Sleep was normally a borderline impossibility for Virgil, but he found his drowsiness taking over not long after his head was laid down, and for once his thoughts didn’t plague him, blissfully muddled as he sighed. 

The soft fur brushing up against his side wasn’t even registered as he slipped into the warm darkness that lately, had only come as a sudden wave overtaking an unwilling mind.

***

When Virgil awoke the next morning, he would first notice the feeling of being totally surrounded by fur. Second, he would open his eyes and notice the warm golden light of a fully-risen sun peeking through a canopy of tree roots. Third, he would smile and raise his head...noticing that the den seemed bigger.

Fourth, he would look down to grab his jacket-and find a mass of smooth black feathers where he expected to see his folded arms.

And fifth, he would cement the fact in his mind that yes, swans could cry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Back once more with the next chapter! I’m still vaguely on schedule right? Counts if I wrote like 2 and a half pages today in a weird frenzy and now this page is a bit longer than the others but it’s ok because more is great? Wait I don’t even remember why I missed some days of writing why is my memory this bad ANYGAY! For once you have a chapter that my shitbling and beta did not yell at me for, in fact, it actually has ROMAN!!! *cheering*  
> I mean..My Virgil privileges got revoked…kinda had to..his dialogue is hilarious and I think my writing got more flower it’s great.  
> Onwards!)

**One month later and about three chapters earlier**

Roman’s intention had been to slip into the castle, change, and escape to the woods with his crossbow as soon as the last guest had taken their leave.

But, as he stood beside his mother and watched Duchess Valerie’s carriage roll off into the distance over the green hills, it was made clear that that particular wish would not be granted, as the first thing his mother did when he turned to pick up the cloth-wrapped bow from where it lay on top of a stone bench was reach to tightly grip his shoulder.

“Roman. We still have things to do.”

The prince’s shoulders slumped, and his hand fell back to his side. He’d hoped otherwise..and yet past experience told him not to be surprised.

“..does it have to be now?”   
He heard a sigh from behind him before his mother turned him to face her.

“Yes, it does, because if you pick up that bow you’ll run off and I won’t see you until sunset, and by then your head will be so far up in the clouds you won’t be able to even  _ see  _ the ground to determine where to step next. Come inside.”

Roman knew what would come next. He’d step inside and be dragged off to some meeting or other. A meeting where they’d speak of the king’s death. The king’s, not his father’s. It’d be glossed over as his ascension was spoke of, as wills were discussed, and it would even be better if he could scream, if he could yell about how disrespectful that was, how he needed time. That’s how it was in every story he’d read, in every play he’d seen, the grieving protagonist would fall to their knees and sob, lament, bargain with the gods to bring their loved ones back. 

And yet not a single tear had clouded his eyes since he found out of his father’s passing. 

If the situation hadn’t been so extreme he likely would have tossed out a quip about turning into Logan. But that would just be cruel, no, he just..could feel nothing.    
It frightened him. The bow was like a lantern, a single spot of light he could clutch to give him some sort of understanding, of sight in the endless fog he walked through, and the depths of the forest was the only place where things seemed clear. They belonged together. He belongs there, where no person could protest or tell him he needed to be doing anything differently.

By all means he should protest, tell his mother he didn’t want to be walled in by white, lifeless marble and pale stone. 

But when he opened his mouth, what came out was “Okay.”   
Because he could see two things in her eyes, one of which being determination, the other being sorrow.

_ She _ could feel it, even if he couldn’t.

He didn’t hurt. She did. If she needed them..it was his duty to be there.

So he let her take the bow, and followed through the gate. 

The arching windows normally spilled the golden light of afternoon through to cast a glow on the perfectly polished floors. But now, the normally brilliant crimson curtains had been replaced with black velvet drapes, the light blocked out so the halls no longer felt bright and comforting, but grim and hopeless.

It only made his numb heart feel cold. At one point his mother turned down a hall to the room that used to be his father’s and now was only hers, and Roman kept walking, almost bumping into a pillar on the way to his own bedroom. When he pushed open the wooden door, he didn’t even take a moment to appreciate the way the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling window behind his four-poster, crimson and gold draped bed brightened the room, washing away the gloom that the halls had cast over his shoulders. Because it had already attached itself to him, and the dull listlessness Roman felt showed in his movements. They were stiff and automatic, close the door, draw the curtains shut, step to his immense wardrobe and change. Not into the forest-green attire he wore to go out and hunt as he longed to, or even to his typical style of white and crimson.    
No, from the fancy black suit covered in glittering buttons and silver embroidery into a no less dark and gloomy, but slightly comfier alternative.    
He took longer than usual too, staring at nothing as he laced up his boots. The solitude did nothing for his mind. 

When Prince Roman stood up, clad head to toe in the black of mourning that was still so prettily designed that it felt like a show he for once did not wish to play a part in, he did not feel like the title suited him.

***

For the next three days, Roman’s mind remained in quiet turmoil. He was shuffled from room to room, kept from the outdoors where he longed to escape, weighted down by responsibility and the constant reminder of what had happened. Normally his mind would be his respite, but it had grown gray with grief, and with him unable to seek revival, his usual fantasies were unreachable. He’d half stop paying attention during the discussion of wills, of letters of sorrow sent by  frauds nobles who hadn’t been able to make the funeral. The only discussions he really remembered were those of the dreaded  _ wife _ , which he usually managed to shut down and escape from. One such incident had just occurred, with him offering a rather poorly put-together excuse of needing to polish his sword and fleeing to his room, where he sat on the bed, head bowed, golden circlet feeling like a mountain pushing it down towards his clasped hands.

He could have sat like that for minutes or hours, face totally blank, when someone knocked at his door. 

His first thought was that his mother had pursued him to continue the dreaded conversation, and he began to make a beeline for the closet to hide (although to be honest that was the last place he needed to be at the moment) but the voice that came through was not his mother’s. Rather, the voice was younger and stiff. Formal.   
“Your highness, the Count Veritas is here to seek audience with you.”

Roman’s thoughts of burying himself in cloaks immediately halted, along with his feet.   
“Let him in.”   
The door opened, and the count stepped inside the shaded space, pushing aside the blue fabric of his half-cape to offer a slight bow.

“Good afternoon my prince, I hope you are doing decently.”   
Roman threw a nearby coat on his face.

The noble yelped indignantly as he pushed the offending garment off, while Roman only laughed.

“Come  _ on _ , Scroll Under the Bridge, still being so formal?”   
He revoked that opinion after the coat was launched back in his face.

Once the red cloth was no longer obscuring his vision, he was able to look up and see Logan Veritas’s folded arms and smug grin. Huffing, he tossed the jacket on the ground.

“So, you wanted to talk to me?”

The certainty in Logan’s demeanor seemed to falter for a second, but was quickly masked as he pushed his spectacles up his nose and resumed his previous pose.

“Yes, I did. You know, to see if you were doing alright, converse and such..” he spotted the count’s gray eyes flicker around the room. To the drawn curtains, the slightly messy corners, the black clothes on both Roman’s person and the ones tossed carelessly on his bed, which meant he hadn’t let any servants in, and lingering for a noticeable moment on the mahogany surface of his writing desk-completely clean and clear.

“Listen if you needed to vent. That sort of thing.”

There was silence between them for a moment. Roman could see Logan clearly taking advantage of that to scrutinize his posture and facial expression (which was no doubt drawn up and tense) for any clues of his mood.   
Yet he wouldn’t have to do that for long.

The prince’s shoulders slumped, and he almost felt the title roll off of them. Finally. He knew Logan wasn’t really...the best person to go to when he was having emotional issues. But he was all he had, the only friend he really had around his own age. Who wasn’t, you know, ordered to agree with him on basically everything.

Plus, sometimes, in times of great distress, having a more objective viewpoint was good.

But for now, Roman just took five steps to his right and slumped on the end of his bed, the same position he had been in before Logan arrived. He heard a sigh from the door, and a moment later, he felt the bed dip. The count had sat beside him.   
More silence as Roman compiled his thoughts, rubbing his left palm with the thumb of his right, switching, rubbing his wrists..

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“...it doesn’t?”   
He’d expected that much confusion.   
“No! It doesn’t. It doesn’t hurt at all, but it..” Roman trailed off, eyes darting across the floor as he searched for the words, just to make himself  _ heard,  _ he brought his hand up to rub his temples but ended up running it through his hair, gripping hard and tugging on his bangs. How could he explain? Dammit, why did poetry never come when you need it! He knew Logan would understand that! It was a language they both spoke, even when their own could not quite convey the thoughts!

Roman tossed his hands into the air, admitting defeat.

“It just doesn’t hurt!! It should, I know it should, I should be weeping, I should be  _ bawling,  _ he’s-he’s my  _ father _ for goodness sake but I just..I just can’t! Everything is-everything’s just-”   
“Numb?”   
“.....yes.” Roman’s hands dropped. He buried his face in them, dammit the word had been on the tip of his tongue and it was just so  _ simple! _ He was a mess.

Around the middle of a very long, very loud, very dramatic groan, the prince felt a hand move to rest in between his shoulder blades and slowly begin to rub circles into his back. The touch was light, hesitant, yet fluid.

And it felt nice.

It was a moment after his troubled mind had ebbed a bit when he heard Logan’s quiet voice again, slow and deliberate. He knew that tone; uncertainty that his words would be well received.

“...the grieving process is different for everyone. It seems, by your own description, that you are experiencing shock. You...you likely will fall into the depressive states later in the grieving process, but for now there isn’t much you can do to speed it up. Your mind needs time to fully work through and understand what has happened, and the only thing I know of that can help it do that is to spend some time clearing your head. Then it is a matter of if the other emotions—either rage or despair, hit you during a time of calm or a time of reflection. They commonly come suddenly. But they will come..and there’s nothing wrong with being unable to fully grasp the weight of losing a loved one in the immediate aftermath of it happening.”

A dry smile pulled at the prince’s lips.

“Did you learn that in a book, My dear scho-lord of the library?” He lifted his head up slightly from his hands, just in time to catch the look that flitted across Logan’s face, a twitch of his lips and unfocused eyes, just for the moment it took to let out a puff of air.

“My aunt, actually.”

“Ah.”

Roman remained in that position for a second to process. The physical contact, however small, did help. And so did the words, now that he let them sink in.

“I haven’t been out of the castle grounds since the day before..” he admitted with a sigh, trying to straighten his posture. Logan made a dissatisfied noise, pursing his lips.

“Did your mother not let you?”   
Roman nodded with a sigh. “No! She’s kept me here, with wills and letters and plans! It’s like-it’s like he wasn’t even a person..” his head fell back into his hands, words he had only felt in vague bursts of frustration spilling from his lips. “All anyone’s worried about is how to run the kingdom without him…he was my dad too! But no one  _ cares  _ about that, all I’ve gotten is those damn  _ pitying _ glances! Not a single ‘I’m sorry’ since the funeral, not even from my own mother!! It’s like she’s trying to pretend it didn’t happen! It’s not-aaargh!” He threw his hands up into the air, feeling Logan’s hand fall off his back as he toppled backwards onto the soft mattress.   
“It’s not  _ fair _ ..”

“..hm. So it was the latter.”   
“...huh?” Roman peeked up from between his fingers that he had dramatically pressed over his eyes, confused. Logan explained.   
“The latter. Of my earlier statement, you were hit with anger at a time of self-reflection.”   
The curiosity vanished from Roman’s face like a child sneaking cake when the baker comes.

“That is literally one of the least helpful things you could have said.”

The count rolled his eyes. “It was only an observation..”   
“We were having a moment and you ruined it!”   
“ _ I _ ruined it? I was only commenting on an earlier statement!” the count huffed, and Roman opened his mouth to come up with another (quite stinging and witty mind you!) retort..and then let it fall closed. He threw one hand over his eyes, sighing loudly.   
“Oh, it’s not worth it..”

“What, not in the mood to call me out for ‘having the emotional intelligence of a brick wall?’” The tone was tinging on playful, yes, but there was real worry and surprise there. Apparently, it was  _ that _ statement that brought back Logan’s concern. Roman  _ never _ yielded in an argument.

“No..what am I going to  _ do _ Logan! I’m being locked away like a damsel in distress, I can’t just stay here for however many  _ weeks _ it will take for everything to get sorted out..”

“..have you tried asking your mother? Telling her that this is taking a toll on you?” Logan offered, albeit lamely. He received a scoff in response.

“Of course! I very nearly begged her yesterday, and the  _ witch _ refused me sanctuary! I am truly Rapunzel, locked away in stone,  _ doomed  _ to never let my face or magnificent locks see the sun! Clearly my only option is to run away from these dark cl-”   
Roman sat up suddenly, and Logan was filled with dread. That was a very bad place to stop that sentence.

“...how did I not think of that before! I’ll simply sneak out!”

Well, at least he could say he knew his friend..he also knew that his next words would be blatantly ignored.

“That is a very bad plan-”

But as predicted, the prince had already leapt off his bed and was racing to the closet, diving right to the bottom of his dresser and pulling out an ensemble much different from his usual color scheme of blinding white and scarlet. This was a tweed jacket in a shade of dull green, the trousers a dark brown. Brown leather boots-far less shiny than his usual polished black ones, were pulled out after-and Logan didn’t get to see what happened next, having to turn around due to the excited prince currently having  _ no  _ sense of decency and changing right there.

“It’s already evening, so I’ll just sneak out through the kitchens..maybe grab a snack too-” Logan heard the sound of fabric over skin and slight rustling, that must be Roman buttoning the jacket- “-and no one will even notice I’m gone! And I can  _ finally  _ test out that crossbow, eh Logan?”

The count blinked. Actually taken aback that the prince had remembered he was here.

“I suppose, is it safe to turn around now?”  
From the _thud_ of a boot that he heard behind him and the offended gasp (he didn’t even need to look to know Roman had placed his hand to his chest as if wounded) Logan could infer that yes, it was. Though his lack of doing so brought out another comment.

“Are you saying you don’t want to ogle at my amazingly chiseled physique?”   
“Yes,” he replied in his flattest and most disinterested voice.   
“Logan, you  _ wound _ me!” 

“You didn’t answer my question.”   
“....yes, it’s  _ safe _ to turn around..if my fabulous muscles  _ sicken _ you that much,” the prince huffed, and Logan did finally turn around. The hunting outfit was rather tight-fitting—of course it was, as Roman had just proven, he would go to any end to show off his good looks even to bears in the forest. And just as predicted, he looked as deeply offended as if Logan had just told him he was descended from trolls.

When there was no retort from the count, Roman just crossed his arms, close to pouting like a petulant child. 

“Well  _ anyway, _ as I was saying, I can finally test out that crossbow you gave me, and no one should even notice I’m gone!”

“Not even the guards? Who should have been extra alert after having so many guests  _ and  _ with the usual structure of command gone?”   
The prince seemed to deflate slightly, a frown creasing his face—but almost immediately he perked up again.    
“Well then I’ll head through the garden, they don’t post too many guards there and even if I’m caught I can just say I was smelling the roses!”

“And if they question your outfit?” Logan challenged once more, folding his arms over the dark fabric of his shirt. But Roman was ready this time.

“I’ll tell them I didn’t want to get any dirt on my regular clothes. Plus, even if they don’t believe me, it’s not like I’m  _ forbidden _ from leaving the grounds, just...highly discouraged by my mother and she hasn’t exactly told the guards to keep me inside! I  _ am  _ still the prince, I just don’t want her catching wind.”

Logan slowly nodded. For once, his friend seemed to have thought this out. Maybe it wouldn’t end in disaster.

The key word was maybe.

“I assume you’re going to run off right now?”

“Well that was the plan—not much sunlight left after all!” Roman bounced on his heels excitedly, glancing out the window, which, though mostly covered by curtains, had a line of golden light streaming through that easily indicated it was getting to be late evening.

Logan nodded, and then stood up. “Well, then either my efforts succeeded or failed horribly, I’ll have to see.” 

Roman waved a hand dismissively, a cocky grin sliding easily onto his face. “Oh come on now Count Veri- _ blah _ , I’m feeling better already! Now get out of here and don’t tell anyone!”   
Said noble rolled his eyes to the heavens at the nickname, and the indication that he would rat on his friend about something that clearly meant a lot to him. He let Roman wave him towards the door, though opened it himself.

“Fine, but I’ll be back  soon and when I do you’d better be here, and  _ without  _ a squirrel hidden under your bed.” He grinned slightly as Roman huffed-a nerve he remembered.   
“That was  _ one time _ okay? And it was injured!”   
“From what I remember hearing news of, it escaped and you decided to chase it around the castle for two hours.”

“Wha-well I had to protect the people who might be scared of rodents!!”

The grin was spreading now. “Perhaps, but I don’t think that was the message everyone else got, again, the rumor I heard was that you referred to the squirrel as ‘Mrs. Fluffybottom’ and were crying ‘don’t you love me’ as it attempted to escape down to the kitchens.”

“I, ugh—that...well that was a _ rumor! _ ” Roman sputtered, “You would trust a rumor more than I, your dear friend?”

“Indubitably,” Logan deadpanned, and closed the door behind him.

“Well  _ goodbye  _ to you too,” the prince mumbled through the thick door, stalking back to his bed and sitting down on it with a pout. He’d have to wait a bit to go out, but  _ honestly,  _ the nerve of that know-it-all! You’d think a friend of such caliber would care a bit more about  _ his _ friend’s dignity!

Though, the prince could admit...it had been kind of him to come by.

So there was that, but still!

***

When those petulant thoughts had calmed, and it felt like had enough time had passed, Roman stood. Pushing the curtains back slightly confirmed that he would have to act fast if he wanted to get maximum daylight—which he was already wasting!   
The prince straightened his shoulders. A grin formed on his face as he strode back to the closet, but this time to the corner where his weapons were stored. 

First, he picked up the scabbard for his sword, buckling the black belt around his waist in a smooth, practiced motion, the familiar weight of the weapon settling easily against his left him. And then for a less familiar weapon-the crossbow. He’d used them before of course, but only to an extent, and of course, any new weapon would be strange to wield at first, no matter the type.

He carefully lifted up pale bow, then the sling he’d smuggled in from the armory the day before (what, he wanted to be prepared) making sure he would be able to easily remove the weapon before slinging the leather strap over his shoulder. 

It was at this point he realized that he would not be able to pass off his venture as ‘smelling the roses’ when he was clearly armed.

_ Hm. _

Well he wasn’t going to give up now, dammit! He’d just have to not get caught. And that would be easy!

Confidence restored as easily as a knife through butter, Roman turned and left the closet, removing the golden circlet on his head and placing it carefully by his bedside, before easing open the door and slipping out into the quiet hall.

 

Lady luck smiled upon Roman that day, for he managed to get to the kitchens without anyone seeing him. Of course once he arrived there wasn’t any hiding from the chefs preparing dinner, and what with there not having been a ‘family meal’ since the death of his father, they were not as focused on being perfectly on time as usual.   
But he  _ was _ the prince. While guards might question him, all it took was a wink and a finger to his lips to keep questions from coating the air as he slipped out the door the cooks used as a shortcut to the piles of firewood outside.

Roman breathed in the fresh air gratefully, but his smile faded slightly as he passed under the arch that led to the garden.   
The numb cold settled in as his leather boots padded along the same marble tiles that the shoes of funeral goers had walked along only days earlier, as his eyes landed upon cut flowers that had dropped from bouquets and had found their way into blooming bushes, as he passed the marble table that a casket had laid on.

Roman stopped. 

He grasped his wrist in his left hand, eyes dropping to the ground.

And then he frowned.

_ I am not going to linger on a lack of feeling. _

That was the whole point of getting away. As hard as it was to lift up his chin and resume his path towards the opposite arch, he must do it. This was his escape! None of this existed out in the woods, he’d been numb and hopeless for days!   
No more. He was getting away.

Sorrow would come in time.

It took him a moment. Two. Three. And then Roman’s feet were moving again, down the path and to the archway that led him to the woods.

He strode out into the open-or would have, if he hadn’t noticed a guard passing by him at that very moment. He yanked himself back into the garden and ducked back behind the gently sloped wall of stones the obscured the garden from the outside, and he must have not been noticed, as the guard did not follow.

Another two minutes passed there, the prince with his back against the wall, until he dared another peek. Nothing. Sighing in relief, Roman adjusted the strap over his shoulder and was off, making sure his footsteps were quick and light against the grass. It was only thirty steps to the edge of the woods from the archway, and he cleared it without discovery, ducking his head below a branch and pushing into the forest.

***

This was home.

Roman breathed in the scents of the woods, the musty scent of mushrooms, the damp earth, the sweet scent of the few spring flowers that bloomed as well as the crisper grasses and young herbs that poked from under bushes and between the roots of trees. And he listened. His footsteps, near-silent with practice, were yet a steady pattern, one foot lightly placed down toe first, any rigid twig wormed under the arch of his foot where his weight would not snap it, and repeat. It was not the swiftest way of movement by any means, but with as much practice following the trails of these woods as he had, he made decent time. And the silence was important. As he was both less likely to draw attention from unsuspecting prey or predator, he could listen. 

His ears caught the faint trickle of a nearby stream, the happy song of a few birds, a rustling-he paused. Something small, a rabbit perhaps, but it fell silent before he could pinpoint the sound. No matter. 

Roman strode through the forest with a newfound joy, a proud grin on his face and determination in bright hazel eyes that swept the undergrowth for prey like a hawk. And yet, even as he strode deeper into the wood, and the brush beneath his feet began to thicken and his pace was forced to slow, he’d only drawn his crossbow on a rabbit that quickly scampered away.

Bad luck.

But Roman kept his thoughts optimistic, even as the light that filtered between the dark leaves overhead and scattered dappled patterns over the forest floor shifted from gold to orange, and continued on ever deeper, and just slightly quicker. He wanted to catch  _ something  _ before getting back! And he would, he certainly would.   
However, getting lost in positive thoughts is still getting lost in thought, and despite the good intentions..it led the prince’s mind to wander. Images of shooting down a deer or even some more dangerous beast, like a wild boar, or even something more fantastical, like a kelpie or a troll were playing in front of his eyes rather than reality, where the orange glow was fading slightly and rough bark brushed up against his broad shoulders.

At least until his searching right boot found a fallen tree rather than smooth footing, and he toppled forward with a very undignified yelp, throwing his hands forward to stop his face from smacking into the dirt but not in time to spare his knees from banging against the log. 

Roman grunted loudly in pain, gritting his teeth.  _ Okay. No more daydreaming in the woods...ow… _

Groaning, the prince got to his feet, dusting dirt off his palms and grimacing at the scrape along the heel of his left hand, then wiping them on his trousers, which were luckily still intact. Dirty, but at least he wouldn’t have to get them sewn up. 

When he took his next step, there were a few things brought to his immediate attention. One-he must have banged his right kneecap, because it was throbbing like a fresh bruise (likely) and while it wasn’t agonizing, it was very unpleasant, and even more so due to having been inflicted by a simple  _ log.  _ How embarrassing.

But wounded knees and pride was..not the most important at the moment. As when Roman looked up, and then around, he noticed that the canopy was so thick only the barest hints of sunlight peeked through, and that the trees around him were too thick to put his arms around, along with being set close and dense. The flowers had disappeared too, the wood he knew, green and lush and fragrant with springtime blossoms and filled with animals big and small, had been replaced with a dark, constricting forest that stretched what felt like miles above his head with not an animal or spot of color in sight-except for the minimal patches of fading sunlight.

_ Oh...dear.  _

For a moment, Roman’s chest clenched with fear, not only did was he unsure of where he’d come from, but the whole atmosphere of the wood sent a slight chill up his spine. 

But no! This was not how a prince should behave when confronted with a foreboding forest.

_ They’re just trees. And if they happen to be hiding beasts, well that’s what I came to find some anyway! This is just a little change of plan. _

No need to be afraid.

So he strode on, but noticeable kept his hand on the pommel of his sword. Bravery could not diverge into recklessness after all..he’d learned that many times the hard way. And he remembered to watch his step.

For another indefinite while, he stepped through the dark wood at a pace only a tad slower than his previous, the slight nervousness in his gut only serving to tune his reflexes (or so he liked to tell himself). But soon, he noticed just a tad more light filtering through the branches.    
Relief was unavoidable, along with the instinct to follow it. Roman’s steps came faster, harder, until he was almost running, and he breathed a large sigh when at last the shadows parted.

He stood at the edge of what he had assumed was a clearing-but no, this seemed to be the edge of the woods for at least some extent, as while the branches still stretched, intertwined fingers reaching for the sinking sun, the trunks either leaned out over the soft grass or stood as tall as ever, but with the exception of a few, none sprouted beyond this point.

That made sense, for as he had noticed, the undisturbed rass before him was not that of a simple hole in the woods, but the bank of a magnificent lake that gleamed with reds, oranges, and golds reflecting of its mirror-like surface, the reflections of dark trees unblurred on the water.

It was beautiful.

Roman stepped forward as if trapped in a trance, kneeling by the shore and carefully dipping his hand into the water. It was cool and almost clear, and he quickly scooped some into his hands for a drink.

He could have sat there, watching the sunset and gazing at the last rays of sunlight now dipping below the horizon for however long it took for the sky to fade to black, and likely would, if not for the shape that appeared around what he would call a corner for now—this section of the lake was further inland than the rest, like a pond attached to the main body, and there was must lake to the left and right of it he could not see.

It was a bird of some sort, silhouetted black against the last light of sunset, and a grin appeared on Roman’s face, so he might have a chance of catching something after all! Well, first he had to rush back to the cover of the shadows, but the bird had not seemed to notice his rush. Nor the slight sounds of the prince lifting the crossbow from his back and loading in a bolt.  It swam across the lake to step onto the shore, and it was then that he realized the bird was in fact a swan, and not silhouetted either, oh no, every feather on its body was black as the night about to fall.

Roman raised the bow-and then stopped. A second thought flitted across his mind, this animal was truly something else, would it be right to kill it for something like a trophy? It wasn’t like he needed the meat..he bit his lip, lowering the weapon ever so slightly, and the swan stood there, as if trapped in the moment just like he was, its face turned towards the faintest light still left on the lake, as it faded, darkened, and the water was left black.

But he’d been looking all evening and found nothing! Sure, it might feel a bit better to have found a more common animal in a moral sense, but at the same time what a glorious bird! And he might actually make a kill. Surely it was—no, it was worth it. So Roman raised the bow again, finger on the trigger-

And then he went so still you could have sworn he’d caught sight of a cockatrice.

For the bird..it wasn’t quite a bird anymore. Or if it was it must be magic, for as the darkness swallowed its black form and silver light replaced gold on its feathers, it grew.

And yet it didn’t grow into a larger bird. Its body slimmed and neck shrunk, and Roman watched with both awe and a veiled sense of apprehension as it shifted size and shape, he was sure it would become a fae of some sort, like those shape-changers he’d read about, faeries that lured in prey—be it animal or human—with the shape of creatures that drew them in, only to change to their true form of an eyeless figure that hung with moss and swallow them whole, but that was not what happened.

No.

Feathers did not fade into stringy black hair, the beak did not stretch into hundreds of needle-like teeth, instead, black plumage faded both to pale skin and dark cloth, wings shrung to arms and stick-like legs thickened.

Before him was a young man.

A young man dressed in a shabby black jacket that had been repeatedly patched with what looked to be some dull purple fabric, matching dark trousers that had thin rips over the knees, and with hair only a few shades darker than his own that hung over his eyes.

Roman gasped—and the man’s head whipped around—he didn’t know what he’d expected, but he did know it wasn’t black smudges under piercing brown eyes.    
Somehow, the stranger was as hauntingly beautiful as a human as he had been as a swan. And now he was staring straight into Roman’s eyes, and the prince was about to open his mouth to (to what, introduce himself? Ask what the stranger was?) when the man reached into his jacket, and he realized he was seeing this all in a slow, entranced vision.

The blade of a silver knife just barely missed Roman’s cheek, thrown with terrifying strength and precision that buried itself in the tree behind him.

“ _ WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING WITH THAT THING!? _ ” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I FINALLY GOT THIS GODDAMN CHAPTER DONE! I know it’s been a while, I got hyperfixated on another au that I'm talking about but not writing on tumblr and then Locked Heart and now I have another AU in the works, (my friends are getting contagious) so this took a while because it was my bottom pritority and inspiration was running dry. But tbh since this I’ve had a lot more growth as a writer-so the reason this was so hard was because the middle chapters of this story are kind of a mess and I’m the kind of person who needs a strict outline. So I need to write that down XD and that should help!  
> Anyway, here we go…the first actual interaction, featuring a brief cameo from my lovely beta reader who puts up with Virgil’s blatant racism against his bird brethren. ON WITH THIS, FINALLY!)
> 
> Warnings: Blood, falling out of trees?

Roman wasn’t sure whether it was the blade or the shout that jolted him out of his stupor, but regardless, he jolted, eyes flicking back between the still-quivering blade and the piercing glare the stranger was directing his way.

Roman made a noise - halfway between shock and offense, as an equally heated glare spread across his own face.

“What am I doing? What are you doing throwing knives at innocent passers-by!”  
“Well excuse me for not being so comfortable with, I don’t know, someone pointing a goddamn _crossbow in my face_?”  The stranger’s voice was laced with spite and dripping sarcasm, emphasized by the assusing wave of his hand in the direction of Roman’s weapon.

It took the prince a moment to respond. Honestly, in his awe of the transformation he’d witnessed, he’d almost forgotten the bow in his hands. Though now, with the option of backing out on his rather…snappy introduction, or putting the bow down..he chose the former. For his dignity!

“Well it’s not _my_ fault! I thought I was just hunting some random bird!”

The man seemed to pause at that-and Roman smirked at the small victory. But he quickly recovered, eyes trained just as sharply on the weapon as he spat out another jab at the prince.

“Well you aren’t! So mind putting that thing down??”

“I-” yes he would! “I will not! You just turned from a bird into a man, how do I know you’re not some-some dastardly magician lying in wait to terrorize the land?”

The stranger made a noise - a startled grunt, looking shocked for a second. And then his expression hardened even further.  
“You-You think I’m an evil sorcerer!? I was fucking _cursed by one_ you moron! I’ve been here for like a month!”  
“And how would I know that? How do I even know you’re telling the truth?” Roman countered.

Well for one, he could see the rage twisting the stranger’s face.

“Well I don’t know, maybe because if I was an evil sorcerer I would have cursed you by now? That’s basically what they do, shoot magic at people just trying to get some food-kinda like you and that bow!”

The man took a step forward—rather brave considering how much the weapon seemed to set him off, and Roman was once again scrambling for a retort.

“Excuse me for wanting to have defense against a possible evil magician, I’m not still bothering you about this am I?” He took one hand off the weapon to reach behind him and pull the dagger out of the wall. He was distracted for a moment by the red gleam of a gem set into the pommel, considering the plainness of the dagger otherwise, it was likely spinel rather than ruby.

It was at that moment that he was yanked forward and the bow slipped from his hands.

Once Roman’s eyes registered that yes, the stranger _had_ in fact just grabbed and taken his weapon (though luckily he looked completely at a loss as how to use it and was holding it under one arm with the bolt pointed down) he decided that the level of offense this dark stranger had committed was…incorrigible!

“Give that back this instant, you heathen!” he demanded, instinctually brandishing the dagger-though it likely looked a tad silly, considering he was doing so as if it was a sword…when he still had his sword at his hip. The other man did not comply.

“Sorry I don’t want to get shot!”

“I wasn’t going to shoot you!” Roman retorted, and to that, the stranger looked half surprised and half further annoyed.

“Then why wouldn’t you put it down if you weren’t gonna use it!”

…Roman actually didn’t have much of an answer for that. Not outside of ‘I didn’t want to’, at least. That would just sound silly.

“Because-“ he began, “Because—well, because it’s mine! Now give it back, you are stealing property of a prince!”

Now _that_ properly surprised the stranger. He stepped back, posture losing a hint of its defensiveness..though his face still held suspicion.

“If you’re a prince, why are you hunting birds in the woods?”

“I needed a breath of fresh air,” Roman responded simply, but when the man still didn’t budge, he groaned and rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his chest.

“If you’re too much of a skeptic to believe what’s right in front of you, check the bow, it has my family crest carved into it.”

He was stared at for a few more seconds. But then the stranger lifted the bow back up, eyes scanning the pale wood.

“You could have stolen it,” he pointed out after a minute in a begrudging voice-and Roman has to bite back another groan.

“Why would I lie to a strange bird-man in the woods? I’m Prince Roman, and you are holding a bow that Count Logan Veritas gifted to me, kindly give it back,” Roman announced, unconsciously puffing out his chest.

There was a beat of silence. The stranger looked at him for a long moment, as if scanning his face. The suspicion faded, and a triumphant smile began to spread across the prince’s face—until something else made its way into the stranger’s expression. Something he didn’t place as deviousness until his bow went flying into the thick, twisting branches of the tree above him.

_“WHAT IN MERLIN’S LIBRARY WAS THAT FOR!?”_ Roman screeched at the top of his lungs, sending a lone sparrow fleeing from its nest.He looked up, frantic, but the weapon had landed not in the section he could see—the inexplicably bare branches—but deep in the mass of dark green leaves.

The stranger didn’t answer. Instead he grabbed his dagger from Roman’s limp right hand—he must have cut himself from the hiss of pain—and was storming off into the trees before Roman could react.

Flabbergasted, the prince just stared for a long moment. Rage was replaced with nervousness, and with a frustrated growl of defeat, he realized it would be no use pursuing the man into an unfamiliar section of the woods just to give him a tongue-lashing or drag him off, and instead turned to the tree. Striding up to the thick trunk, he took a good look.

Prospects weren’t good. The branches didn’t start until at least twenty feet up and…wow, these trees really were immense.

He tried of course, to grip at the trunk and hoist himself up, but the bark was too smooth for any real hold. Roman’s hands slipped down it, and as undignified as it was, also attempted the ‘tree hugging’ method, but the trunk was far too wide. He slid down like eggs thrown against the wall..felt the part as well. At least he seemed to be alone again, unless he wasn’t and the stranger was watching? …No, Roman resisted the urge to look over his shoulder and instead stepped back to circle the general area. Perhaps there was another tree he could climb into, and then cross the branches to get to the top of that one?  
Yes! The prince scanned the trees around..and his brief smile faded. There were trees with branches lower, yes, but none of them his height..

He thought the bow was lost for a minute, until he noticed the closeness of two trees behind him.

Roman’s grin appeared as an idea formed in his mind.

Turning and moving to stand between the two thick trunks, he placed his hands out to his sides and against the dark, smooth bark. And then he sucked in a breath—hoping with all his might that this would work—before jumping up into a split, letting out a whoop of victory as he felt the soles of his feet hit the trees.   
…Maybe that hadn’t been the best idea, but he was doing it! So, Roman carefully brought his right hand up and placed it back higher on the trunk. Grinning, he repeated the process for his left hand, then right foot, then left foot, about three quarters of the way to the branches now…just a little farther and-

But as the prince reached up with both hands, he found himself losing balance. Wavering. And then suddenly, he found himself leaning ba-

Roman shrieked as he suddenly found himself plummeting to the ground, trying desperately to stick his arms out to catch himself between the trees-

His exhale was shaky, and his palms burned like fire from skidding down the bark, but he _hadn’t cracked his skull open in the middle of the woods_ and that was far more important.

Despite what had just occurred, Roman gritted his teeth and continued upward. It hurt, his hands still stung—but he made it back up, and this time, very carefully lifted only one hand to grab the branch.

It snapped.

And again he was losing balance. Thank goodness he didn’t fall again, but it sent his heart into his mouth regardless as he pressed his palms to the trees so hard his elbows started to hurt.

The next branch was at least another five feet. The prince knew better than to look down, but he must be at least ten feet in the air now, another five—no! No, he couldn’t just leave Logan’s gift behind!

Taking a breath, he continued his slow pace upwards. Steadily and carefully—two words that barely ever described him—until he grasped firmly at another branch. Tugging hard just to make sure it wouldn’t break, he slowly reached up with both hands to grasp it firmly and pull himself up.

Huffing, he climbed onto the branch and carefully stood up, gripping one above his head for stability. Now where? The foliage of this tree were dense, but he could see that through the leaves, it was not connected to the tree the stranger had hurled his crossbow into.

“Dammit,” he muttered, but there was no giving up! He stepped onto another branch to his right, where it did connect to the next tree, slowly making his way to it, and then to the tree next to that…

But it was slow going. And in this slow going, he had almost no light to go off of.

It took another ten minutes in the dark, in the trees, before Roman realized he was not making his way towards the tree he intended. In fact..he didn’t even know where he was relative to it. The prince turned, squinting through the darkness to make out the tree—to make out anything, really. But the night was thick and inky black, and what with the canopy both around and above him being as dense as it was, Roman could barely see his hand in front of his face as this point.

No…

There was no way now. How was he supposed to find the bow now?? He had to be home soon, before someone noticed..oh no.

Roman leaned out, peering desperately through the darkness. But then when feeling the branch dip, he flinched and scrambled back to the thick trunk.

Cold, heavy guilt blossomed in his chest. Roman might be a brave optimist (actually he’d been called reckless on many on occasion) but he couldn’t see a way to even _begin_ retrieving the bow. He’d have to leave it behind..oh what would Logan say, what would he think of him? He  knew the Count’s penchant for occupying twitching hands with whatever he could, including a whittling knife..he’d no doubt carved the designs himself, anyone else’s would be inferior in his eyes. And now he’d immediately gone and lost his beautiful gift..

He’d have to come back. He wouldn’t leave it here in the woods where—where that snappish stranger might be able to do something with it!

The guilt in his chest hardened into resolve, and Roman crouched down on the branch. Gripping it tightly with both hands, he slowly lowered himself down so he was dangling, then one hand over the other, slowly, he moved down to the thin end of the branch, being carried farther down as the wood bent under his weight. With five feet left to go, he dropped, bending his knees as he hit the ground. It was jarring, but thankfully he found himself uninjured.

Now…to find his way home…

After a moment of glancing around in the dark, he found there was just enough light to distinguish his fingernails from the rest of hand-hopefully that was enough. Reaching into his hunting jacket’s left pocket, Roman retrieved the small compass he kept there, bringing it nearly all the way up to his eye and heavily squinting in order to read the needle. Not dignified, but necessary. It took a minute, but finally he was able to discern which way was south, he sighed in relief and began to walk.

It wasn’t long before he slipped the compass away and drew his sword instead, it never hurt to be wary..and he swore he noticed a glint of pale blue from a bush. Always be ready. But to his great relief, he didn’t encounter any beasts on his way out. In fact, it seemed much easier to find himself out of the eerily tall and thick inner wood, and back at the more spacious edges. He let out a long sigh of relief at the sight of the moon peeking through the foliage above him.

Journeys from always did seem to be shorter than journeys to, and that was a relief for the tired prince. He emerged from the edge of the woods and back onto the green grasses of the castle grounds with the moon not even halfway to its apex. Roman sheathed his sword and began his trek across the lawn, intending to head for the same kitchen door he used to escape (he knew the head chef took a long time to clean up after the day, and if he didn’t get lucky—well, he’d just climb up the wall to his room!)

He did get lucky though, quietly opening the door and slipping inside-then making his way up the steps without even checking to see who was around. Wood worn from countless shoes turned to impeccably polished boards as he moved from the servants’ end of the castle to the main halls, and then to the royal wing.

From there, he tiptoed his way through the gold light of torches lining the halls to the door of his room, all smooth polished wood that gleamed even brighter in the firelight. Carefully, Roman pushed it open, slipping inside  and spinning on his heels to shut the door just as quietly.  
Hm, that was strange, he hadn’t left any candles burning, had he?  
“Welcome back, Roman.”  
…Oh.

He winced, bowing his head and gritting his teeth sheepishly, as he turned to face the figure sitting on his bed.  
“Ah…yes, good evening mother…”

“Sit down.”  
She gestured to the carved chair in the corner next to his bookshelf, and Roman winced inwardly, dragging himself to the seat like his feet were bound by chains and sinking into the plush upholstery with dread pulling him deeper.

His mother folded her hands on her lap.

“So. Sneaking out at night, are we?”  
“Well it was really more of an evening walk-” Roman rushed to say, letting a bit of what he hoped was sheepish mirth into his voice, but with a snap of her fingers the queen silenced him.

“In your hunting clothes? Roman, you missed another meeting, and you’re lying about it. Going out hunting is one thing. Going out hunting late at night when killing the heir to the throne is a popular thing to do it another. So is deliberately sneaking out and lying about it. And missing a meeting that _deeply concerns you._ ” A sharp edge slipped into her voice at the last words, and Roman bit his lip.

“I…I apologize, mother. I was only trying to get some fresh air, to clear my head…these past few days have been taking a toll on me as well you know.”  
For the first time, he heard his mother sigh, And it felt as heavy as his own.  
“I know, Roman. I know. But these are luxuries that for once we cannot afford. Once everything is sorted out—”

“Yes, what about that?” Roman burst out (quite against his better judgement, but then again, Logan was most of that) “Once everything is sorted out I’ll become king! And then I won’t get much of a chance to go out and hunt, will I? These are my last days, Mother! I would like to enjoy them!”  
He saw sympathy in his mother’s eyes. Just a little. But aside from that, it did not show. 

“I’m sure you will find times here and there. Times are not always so turbulent. But for now, we cannot have you galavanting about in the woods when there is work to be done and safety is such a concern. You will be confined to the castle at all times until I say so.”

“Mother-”

“No.” She held up one hand, once again silencing him. “No ‘Mother’, no ‘buts’. I apologize if your safety and the stability of Volona is a more pressing matter than your excursions. I expect you to get out of those clothes and go to _bed_ , we will have to make up that meeting tomorrow. Goodnight.”  
She rose from his bed and strode out the door, offering no further words to her son as it shut behind her.   
Still seated in the chair, Roman bit back a frustrated scream.

He grabbed the pillow behind his back and punched it instead.

Moron! Fool! Blind, forgetful, how could he have let that meeting slip his mind!? Of course they’d come looking for him, he should have been more careful! And now he was stuck here, with Logan’s beautiful present lost to that _cretin_ in the woods!  
…No.

Roman’s lips settled into a thin line as he clenched and unclenched his fists, rising from the seat as he roughly pulled off his sword belt his other weapons, then his hunting clothes. Even as he changed into his bedclothes, the thought remained constant.

He wasn’t going to let the crossbow rot in that tree. He could be smart. He could be careful. He’d get it back.  
Somehow.

***

Virgil hissed as he slunk away into the woods, wincing at the red line across the palm of his left hand. Well, at least he had his knife back..but he couldn’t shake the shaky feeling that spread through his body at what had just happened.  
Prince Roman, heir to the Volonian throne. In _his_ woods. In the woods period! Why…and he’d basically bitten his head off.  
Virgil felt a little proud about that.

But hopefully he wouldn’t come back without that bow..he shivered, recalling the memory of the crossbow bolt pointed right at his face.

Thank god that was over.

He stepped deeper into the woods, switching the knife to his right hand. Sure, he wouldn’t be able to use it as well if he needed it, but it was better than irritating the cut. He’d bandage it later…well, if he could spare the fabric from the hem of his coat.

Luckily, Virgil didn’t encounter any danger. He made his way back around to the lakeside near the fallen tree with no problems and dipped his hand in the water, swirling it around. The blood tinged the surrounding silver rippled a pale orange, and he wiped it on his pants. Maybe not the most sanitary option (he did attempt to wash his clothes-if wash meant ‘leave to soak in the lake while you poke at them with your beak’) but it was all he had.

…Did he really have to bandage that? Looking at it, the cut wasn’t _too_ deep..What would Patton say about it?

“Virgil!”

Oh. Well apparently he wouldn’t have to wonder. Virgil quickly turned around, meeting the striking blue eyes of the wolf he could still understand even in this form. They’d assumed it was a bond of the curse, but it seemed magic shouldn’t be something to think too hard about if you weren’t a practitioner.

“Hey Patt,” he replied-and was promptly tackled to the ground, a very concerned wolf now nuzzling at his hand.

“What happened? Why are you hurt? Did something attack you? Do I need to kill it?”

“What—no! I just cut myself on my knife, I’m fine!”

“Oh.” Patton sat up, allowing Virgil to push himself off the forest floor with his unhurt hand. “Well in that case, why weren’t you being more careful?”

Somehow, in the month since he’d been cursed, being scolded by a wolf had become normal to Virgil, to the point where he actually did hunch his shoulders, as if being reprimanded by his own father. Though his expression was more annoyed than sheepish. He’d been getting to that!

“Well-” actually, how to phrase ‘a hunter pointed a crossbow at me and probably would have killed me if I didn’t change back then and there’ in a way that wouldn’t prompt Patton to hide him in the den and not let him out. Ever.

“…Well, because the prince of Volona kind of showed up?”  
“The-the _prince_?” Patton sounded about as shocked as he’d felt, though far more awed. “What would he be doing here!? And-” he paused. “Actually, who did you say the current prince was again?”

“Some prick named Roman,” Virgil muttered, trying to scoot back to stand up. Luckily Patton got the hint and stepped back. “He was hunting, and he kinda…well, tried to shoot me— _but_ I changed back just in time I’m FINE!”

Luckily, he did not get tackled again, and with a sigh of relief, continued. “I mean, he stole my knife. That’s why I cut myself, I had to grab it by the blade. Threw his crossbow into the tree though, serves him right for accusing me of cursing myself.”

“Wait, he accused you of being the magician?”

“Yep,” Virgil responded, popping the ‘p’ and pulling up his left sleeve, grimacing as he shakily cut away a strip of cloth from his jacket with the knife, taking the scrap of black fabric and tying it around his left hand, mostly with his teeth. Oh, how he wished he could get a new one, Patton’s fur was probably the only thing keeping him from freezing to death when he slept at night.

“Well…that’s not really a great first impression…”  
“Tell me about it.” He pulled the knot tight and slipped the knife back into his pocket. “I just hope he doesn’t come back to get that stupid bow…”

He got to his feet and looked down at Patton, but the wolf seemed to be frowning, thinking. Either that or sniffing something out. It was still a bit hard to tell.  
“Well, if he does, would it be all that bad? I mean, maybe he could help us somehow!”

“How?” Virgil frowned, not following, and a bit shocked by the idea.

“I don’t know, but maybe he could explain our situation to someone? At least then we wouldn’t be stuck here..maybe even ask some other magician if there’s another way around the curse!”

Virgil bit his lip. It was…a thought. Possible. Unlikely. Especially for him, Patton was just an innocent baker, but he’d probably either get told he deserved what he got for his life of thievery or just thrown in jail.

Neither of those options sounded very appealing, to be totally honest.

“Maybe,” was the answer he settled with. Patton sighed in response, nosing at Virgil’s uninjured hand. 

“Well, I guess it’s up to whether he comes back or not anyway..now come on, let’s get you back to the den okay? You need rest!”

“Patton, it’s just a little cut-”

_“Virgil._ You stayed up until sunrise last night, and the night before that. I know why, but you still need sleep. Rest.”

Virgil groaned aloud, but he knew there was no arguing. Patton would either lick, tackle, or just straight up stare him into submission if he didn’t comply, so he shoved his hands in his coat pockets and followed the wolf into the woods, then down under the hanging roots.

He nestled himself in soft, gray and tan fir with the tiniest of smiled-and Patton really had a point, as much as he’d never admit it, because in less than ten minutes, Virgil was asleep.


End file.
